


Becoming Real

by technoelfie



Series: Through the Looking Glass [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Developing Relationship, Erebor Reclaimed, Everybody Lives, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sex, Sexytimes, True Love, post-BotFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-01 08:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8616871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technoelfie/pseuds/technoelfie
Summary: Firmly established in Erebor and fed up with the tedium of their daily duties, Thorin’s company tries to revive old times by going on a camping trip. Meanwhile, Thorin is reconsidering his choice of queen and trying to avoid the company’s well-intentioned meddling in his love life, with mixed success.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first sequel to THE LONG DARK. It will make a lot more sense if you read that story first. My thanks go out to my darlings @hardlyfatal, @fromthedeskoftheraven and @snugsbunnyfluff on tumblr for listening to my interminable whining about this story, making excellent suggestions and slogging through my first (and n-th) drafts without a single complaint.

**Pain or love or danger**  
**makes you real again.**  
      — Jack Kerouac

 

On the slopes of Erebor, spring was slowly edging into summer. Verdant moss and lichen of all descriptions covered the rock walls, wildflowers bloomed in the deep valleys and peeked out from underneath craggy monoliths.

The dwarves from Thorin's Company had been floating the idea of a hiking trip with varied degrees of enthusiasm for ages. All of them were eager for a taste of those golden days when they only had to worry about orcs and wargs and a distant dragon rather than mining discipline, or dealing with human merchants, or any number of small nuisances that emerged when somebody took thousands of stubborn dwarves from different clans and made them live together in an enclosed space.

When Ori had offered to organize an outing for the Company, including such pastimes as bathing in a frigid mountain lake, doing a spot of hunting, and sleeping under the stars like free males (and one female) unfettered by the chains of duty, he'd met with enthusiastic agreement. As the months progressed and the daily nuisances ground on everyone's nerves more and more, the promised outing became the single ray of hope in a tedious existence for the former members of the Company. It had many names: Get Me Out Of The Mountain Before I Kill Somebody Over Invoices was only one of them. If I Have To Mediate One More Bloody Dispute About Goats I Shall Raze This Mountain To The Ground, See If I Don't, was Thorin's version. There were other, more creative ones in Khuzdûl. Your ears had gone very red when Thorin had attempted a rough translation.

All in all, you were happy and looking forward to the future.

And then came The Row. In hindsight, it had been naive to think that you and Thorin would never argue just because you were madly in love with each other. Even the best couples argued occasionally.

But not like this. Not like this. Because a relationship could only withstand one argument like this before it was irreparably damaged. Sometimes not even that.

It had started so innocuously too.

 

*   *   *

 

"If you won't take me with you, will you at least talk to Thranduil about Tauriel?"

Tauriel was still in exile and you wanted Thorin to intervene with Thranduil on her behalf. He was having none of it. You'd tried again and again to make him see reason, but he wouldn't budge. Tonight was the eve of his departure to Mirkwood, and you'd wanted to have a quiet meal together, followed by some spectacular sex.

Instead you were both sitting stiffly at the table, eyeing each other in tense silence over an excellent but swiftly cooling dinner.

Thorin's hand clenched around his napkin. "No."

The ten times you'd asked the same question before, his answer had been considerably longer. His patience was exhausted. Well, too bad. Yours was too.

You closed your eyes and pictured his patient expression as he explained the reasoning behind his refusal to you for the hundredth time.

"Could you tell me why?"

He sighed. "Again?"

"Again."

"She pointed an arrow at her king, Y/N. Her _king_."

"She was worked up."

Thorin gave you a pitying look. "She is hundreds of years old. She's been the captain of his guard for longer than I've been alive. She had absolutely no excuse."

"She was trying to get him to help you!"

You could see the moment his patience snapped. His face grew cold, gaining that regal disdain that he had previously never, ever directed at you. "Then pointing an arrow at his face was a singularly moronic way to go about it. Not even Dwalin forgot himself enough to draw a weapon on me when he confronted me in my gold sickness. Exile is a mild punishment for such a transgression."

You leaned forward, incensed. "Would you rather he'd executed her?"

"I would have." Seeing your look of horror, he reined in his temper with an effort and qualified his statement. "You are not a warrior, love. The very first thing you are taught is that you do not draw a weapon unless you mean to kill. And she drew on her king, in front of his guards. What is to stop the next hothead with an axe to grind from following her example?"

You sighed. This was going nowhere. He had made up his mind, and you knew him well enough to understand he wouldn't budge, at least not at the moment. But Tauriel was one of the most amazing people you knew. It was patently unfair that her life should be ruled by a single mistake, however grievous.

You raised your pleading gaze to Thorin's. "If you won't talk to Thranduil, at least let her live part-time in Erebor. For Kíli, if nothing else."

"And condone her behavior, however obliquely? Endanger the treaty? No."

"Kíli loves her. Don't you care about his happiness?"

"He seems happy enough to me. He can visit her in Dale if the mood strikes him."

"When? You keep him so busy he barely sleeps."

Thorin shrugged. "He's a prince. He must learn the ropes. Even if he never becomes king, a position such as Balin's will be his eventually. What would you have me do?"

"Give him a little leeway? Allow her to visit him at least? _Something_."

"He'll live." Seeing your face, he added, "They will not be separated forever. If his feelings remain strong, he may visit her as often as he likes. In a few years' time perhaps more, but definitely not now. The arrangement with Mirkwood is volatile as it is."

You gritted your teeth in frustration. "You're a heartless bastard, do you know that?"

He pushed back his chair and stood up, gripping the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip as he leaned forward.

"I am a king, as I keep needing to remind you. Unlike you, I do not have the luxury of wallowing in misplaced compassion."

You saw red. You jumped up, slapping your hands on the table as you mirrored his stance. " _Misplaced_ compassion? Then maybe I'm the wrong queen for you. Seeing as I'm so soft."

Thorin gave you an incredulous look. "Are you threatening to end our betrothal? Over _this_?"

This was dangerous territory.

A small voice at the back of your mind urged you to apologize. He was right; placing your relationship in the balance was the worst sort of emotional blackmail. It was wrong on so many levels. But then you thought of Kíli, pining hopelessly behind that cheerful facade, and reason died a swift death.

You straightened and turned away from the table, away from Thorin's too-perceptive gaze. "I don't know," you whispered.

Thorin said nothing for a long minute. When you next heard his voice, it was right behind your shoulder. "Is this what I am to expect whenever you cannot sway me to your opinion?" he asked quietly. "Insults and threats?"

You wrapped your arms around yourself as tightly as they would go. You were confused and hurt, angry and frightened at the same time. "I don't know," you repeated.

When you turned to look at him, you paled. He looked as if he'd been slapped. Conflicting emotions passed over his features. Affection. Disappointment. Resolve. And then a deep, knowing sadness.

"Think on it, then. Take your time. Before you say something you cannot take back."

And then he simply left, closing the door quietly behind him.

You pressed a fist to your mouth and cried.

Thorin didn't return to the bedroom, and when you finally swallowed your pride enough to search him out, you were told he'd already left.


	2. Chapter 2

**So I wait for you like a lonely house  
till you will see me again and live in me.   
Till then my windows ache.**  
— Pablo Neruda

For the next five weeks, you made an effort to be the happiest future queen who’d ever not-quite ruled. You sat through long, boring meetings with a smile on your face, you charmed the miners and the jewelers into a revised agreement that served both sides and toned down their rampant animosity.

At night you cried yourself to sleep hugging Thorin’s pillow as you replayed your last encounter again and again.

You hadn’t changed your opinion. It was rooted in convictions too deep to ever shake, and that was fine. But you realized that you hadn’t afforded Thorin the right to his own convictions, his own truth. You’d tried to blackmail him into the outcome you wanted, with a self-serving, manipulative maneuver that turned your stomach when you thought about it. Your relationship should never have been thrown in the balance just because you wanted to win at any cost — no matter what the stakes.

When the yearned-for outing commenced on a mild day in late spring, just before sunrise, you couldn’t dredge up an ounce of enthusiasm. You had watched for Thorin all previous evening, hoping he would return on schedule, but no such luck. In the small hours of the morning, you’d finally resigned yourself to the fact that he wasn’t coming.

After a short, exhausted sleep that left you with a crick in your neck and a mood to match Dwalin’s worst, you stumbled into the stables at the crack of dawn, blinking blearily into the gloom. Of the others, only Ori seemed chipper, chattering at Dori in a gratingly cheerful tone.

“Shut yer trap!” Dwalin barked, giving voice to your own sentiments.

You shuffled to your pony, a sweet mare you’d named Rosalind, and fed her an apple you’d hoarded for the purpose. She took your offering elegantly. You stroked her velvety snout as she chewed.

The deep tones of a familiar voice startled you. A look over your shoulder revealed only Ori, chattering at Dori in quieter, but no less excited tones. Bofur had joined them, and he winked at you in greeting. Thorin was nowhere to be seen.

You leaned your forehead against Rosalind’s snout.

You missed Thorin so much you were imagining his voice everywhere. Soon you’d start hallucinating him, and then where would you be?

You took your time saddling Rosalind once she was done with her apple. She let you, sweet-tempered as ever, and you gave her a piece of sugar in thanks before you led her out of the stables.

The sun was hard on your tired eyes, and you had to squint for a while until your sight adjusted enough for you to actually see anything.

A newcomer had joined the party, already astride on a huge black pony. You knew that pony. You knew the rider even better.

_Thorin_.

You gaped at him, barely managing a limp wave as he turned away from Dwalin and saw you.

Thorin acknowledged you with a nod, not cold but not inviting either. You wanted to run to him and jump into his arms. You wanted to cover his face with kisses and promise to never lose your temper again, which was ridiculous. You wanted to apologize a thousand times.

Instead you mounted Rosalind in a daze, joined the leisurely procession out of Erebor’s gates. Thorin continued to ignore you.

Mild apprehension replaced the happiness of seeing him again. You were his betrothed. Surely your reunion warranted more than a cool nod and a view of his pony’s backside for half an hour. You waited until the company was well on their way and then nudged your mount forward. The Company parted to let you through, then dropped back a little to give you privacy. You nudged Rosalind closer to Thorin.

“How did your visit to Mirkwood go?”

“It went well,” he said politely.

“Did anything interesting happen?”

“Depends on what you mean by interesting.”

You squinted up at him against the glare of the sun. “Drunken confessions on Thranduil’s part? Orgies?”

A fleeting shadow of amusement crossed his face, but all to soon his expression shifted back into a contained mask. “None that I remember.”

It went on like that, you asking questions and Thorin answering with the bare polite minimum. You should have given up after the first few times and slunk back to your place at the center of the Company. Instead, you persevered out of sheer bloody-mindedness, thinking up increasingly absurd questions just for an excuse to keep the conversation going. So far, with little success.

In the background, the members of the Company were joking and ribbing each other. Even Dwalin’s rare laughter boomed out now and then, accompanied by Balin’s more subdued tittering.

Clearly Thorin hadn’t said anything to them about your altercation. Fíli was the only one who seemed to sense that something was wrong. Ever the peacemaker, he kept sliding worried glances your way.

You ignored him, turning your head to look at Thorin’s proud profile.

“Lovely weather we’re having,” you remarked.

Thorin nodded. “Indeed.”

It was nearing ten o'clock, and the sun beat down warmly onto the mountainside. But dark clouds had appeared on the horizon some twenty minutes ago, and they were approaching fast, blown in by a strong wind.

You cleared your throat and glanced at Thorin. “Was the weather in Mirkwood to your liking?”

“I cannot say I noticed it much.”

You thought back to the dark canopy of trees eclipsing the sky, the odd vegetation covering the forest floor in sickly colors, and shuddered. “Ah. Well, I guess you wouldn’t. Thranduil’s really let his landscaping go.”

A ghost of a smile curled his lips, then died.

And so it went.

Soon enough the clouds were above you, darkening the sky and your mood.

Soon you reached a juncture where you had to dismount and send the ponies back to Erebor with a groom. The rest of the journey would continue on foot.

You fell back, tired of trying to draw Thorin into a conversation he wanted no part of. He didn’t protest.

Fifteen minutes later, it started to rain.

 

* * *

 

It began as a mild drizzle. Refreshing, Dwalin called it. You thought people who found blizzards mildly vexing should just shut up about the weather altogether. You didn’t say anything of course. You knew Dori would, at length, and he didn’t disappoint you.

By midday, the drizzle had turned into a torrent. Dense sheets of rain pelted you from above in scissoring patterns, while Erebor’s unpredictable winds buffeted you from all sides. Your sodden hair whipped about in the gale, slapping your face and everyone else unlucky enough to get within striking distance. You could barely see your hands in front of your face, let alone your companions. If you hadn’t known better, you would have thought the skies were bent on drowning the lot of you.

“Maybe we should turn back and try again when the weather’s better?” you ventured during a short lull in the downpour. Several pairs of scandalized eyes turned to you.

“And admit defeat?” bristled Dwalin. “Never!”

“You just don’t want to go back to watching trainees clobber each other in basic training,” you muttered.

“Damn right I don’t!”

“It’s just a bit of rain, Y/N,” admonished Kíli.

“Aye,” Fíli affirmed, ignoring all evidence to the contrary. You noticed with a certain glee that his mustache braids drooped sadly, like the whiskers of a drenched cat. Calling a solid wall of water ‘a bit of rain’ under such circumstances was a criminal understatement, and you said as much.

Kíli shrugged, dislodging a veritable deluge from the folds of his cloak. “Well, it’s a wee bit more water than usual, I’ll grant you that.”

“A wee bit?” you screeched, throwing up your hands incredulously. Twin sheets of water arched from your sleeves.

There were shrugs all around. Even Bofur and Nori, who usually possessed more sense than this, looked grimly determined to see the outing through.

Okay then.

Thorin watched the proceedings with equanimity. He didn’t seem to care one way or the other whether the Company would be drowned by torrential rain. And because the universe was eminently unjust, he managed to look even more beautiful than usual while everybody else, you included, cowered under the pelting deluge like bedraggled alley cats.

The same rain that slapped your face and stung your eyes merely smoothed the planes of Thorin’s face with wet fingers, polishing his skin to a sleek shine. His hair streamed behind him in wet, curling ropes, lending an air of wild majesty to his perfect profile. The oiled leather of his cloak rippled around him like raptor wings. Under dark brows, blue eyes glittered like distilled sin.

God, you’d missed him.

Someone cleared their throat.

Fíli nudged you gently. “Y/N? Are you all right?”

You jumped and slapped his hand away. “What?”

“You drifted away for a moment there.”

Thorin continued to stare majestically into the distance, oblivious.

“Can we at least find a cave?” you asked.

You were really cold, and snuggling up to Thorin was out of the question for now.

A lively debate ensued as the others conferred among themselves. Soon it was decided that taking shelter would be an acceptable compromise. Apparently they didn’t enjoy the rain all that much either, or they would never have agreed to something so unmanly.

Once the decision was made, however, it didn’t take long at all to find a nice, roomy cave with enough space to make a lovely fire and cook something hearty.

Everybody shuffled in and soon it was just like old times, complete with you making puppy eyes at Thorin and him being utterly oblivious to your existence.

You heaved a forlorn sigh, and went to help the others get the cave ready. Everyone moved with the ease of long practice. Some earlier group of stranded travelers had left a nice pile of dry branches, and soon enough, Bofur was ready to start a fire. You took off your cloak and sat down on a boulder, shivering. The cloak was pretty and light, but while it had been treated to withstand rain, it had never been intended to resist a flood. It wasn’t nearly as waterproof as the male version. On the other hand, you couldn’t have moved around at all in Thorin’s cloak, which had the weight and consistency of tarp. Therefore you were soaked to the skin while everyone else was only slightly damp.

Thorin seemed thoroughly dry, the bastard.

It took your clothes a while to dry, but once they did, you felt better. You sat around the fire with the others, eating venison and listening to gruesome accounts of long-ago battles, and, once that topic had been exhausted, to no less eye-watering accounts of female conquests.

Thorin sat slightly apart, staring blindly into the fire. Your heart clenched hard whenever you looked at him, but the sheer exuberance of the others made sure you couldn’t dwell too deeply on that.

When he stood up and left the inner cave after a fleeting glance your way, you took it as an invitation, ducking through the narrow tunnel and into the anteroom that led outside. There was very little daylight considering it was only early afternoon. The storm outside continued unabated.

Thorin stood with his back to you, one hand propped against the rock wall.

You cleared your throat. “Thorin?”

When he turned around, his expression was not friendly.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“I—” You tried to regroup. “I thought maybe you wanted to talk?”

He frowned. “What else is there to say?”

You closed your eyes. “Well, I thought I’d start with an apology. I am very, very sorry about what I said. I wish I could take it back. I should never have tried to blackmail you into agreeing with me. I wanted to tell you before you left but you were gone so soon…”

“I had no stomach for more talk that night,” Thorin said. “Or now.”

“You left early on purpose?” you whispered. Your stomach dropped. You had considered the option, but you hadn’t been sure.

“There was nothing holding me there.”

“B-because we disagreed?”

“It was no mere disagreement, was it?” Thorin snapped. “You threatened to end our betrothal because I wouldn’t lie down like a dog and do your bidding.”

“And I was wrong! I’m sorry. If you could just give me a chance to—”

With two swift steps Thorin was suddenly in front of you, crowding you against the rock wall. “To do what? Rip my heart out again?” The sudden fury in his voice was staggering.

You swallowed hard. You felt close to tears. This was going a lot worse than you’d thought it would.

“Do you want to know why I left early?” Thorin whispered against your temple.

“Uh…”

“I will tell you. Because I was tempted to give in.” You reeled back, stunned. He pressed closer still, looming over you. “I was tempted to stomp all over what I knew was right, risk the treaty, just so you’d smile at me again. So you would promise to stay. So you’d honor your vow to become my wife.”

You hadn’t realized the extent of the damage you’d done. Tears stung your eyes. “Oh, Thorin…”

“I cannot be a king and a slave at the same time. You see, I expected your absence to clear my mind. I thought I could rely on Thranduil to annoy me to distraction. But I could not be rid of you, no matter how I tried. I am still not rid of you.”

Panic gripped you. His words weren’t reassuring in the least. If his feelings for you disgusted him so… You searched desperately for something to say that wouldn’t sound self-serving.

“My convictions sustained me for a whole week. On the eighth day I spoke to Thranduil about Tauriel on your behalf,” he said. “I approached him despite my better judgment. I knew the risks and didn’t care.”

At this point, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the outcome. “I’m so, so sorry. Did he react badly? I swear, f I could turn back time—”

Thorin sighed. “That is a child’s wish. You know better. And no. He reacted more graciously than I could have expected. But he might not have.”

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

Thorin watched you for a moment, disappointment plain in his eyes. Whatever he had wanted you to say, this wasn’t it. “You’ve done enough,” he said quietly.

There was no anger in the words, no feeling at all. An icy feeling settled in the pit of your stomach.

Thorin picked up a small leather pack you hadn’t noticed previously.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

You wrung your hands. This was a nightmare. It had to be. “Out where? It’s still raining buckets.”

“Everywhere is better than here,” Thorin said curtly, and stepped out into the deluge.

You stood there frozen, unable to comprehend what just happened.

“Y/N, where are you?” called Fíli’s voice from the back of the cave. “There’s apple pie! Your favorite!”

“Aye. Come quick or it’ll be gone. Bombur has no mercy when it comes to pie!” Bofur called.

You shook yourself. “I’m not hungry!” you yelled back, glad that your voice sounded relatively normal. The thought of food made you feel sick. “Bombur, you’re welcome to it.”

You had to find Thorin.

Except that it was pure idiocy to go out into the storm without a guide. But you couldn’t bear the sick feeling in your stomach another minute. The dangers of the mountain paled before it.

You would find Thorin and you would…

Well, you had no idea what you would do. But if Thorin was truly done with you, you had to know. It had been implied, but he hadn’t said it outright, and you couldn’t stand the uncertainty.

You swallowed back tears. If your relationship was really over, at least you could apologize again and take it with some dignity instead of wringing your hands like a gothic heroine.

You didn’t go back for your cloak. It was soaked through anyway, and wouldn’t protect you at all.

“I’m going out for a bit!” you said, too quietly for anyone to hear. The last thing you needed was for Dwalin to come along. Taking a deep breath, you stepped out into the storm.


	3. Chapter 3

**it's been**   
**too many nights**   
**of being with**

**to now be suddenly**   
**without**

     — Jewel

 

 

Where was he?

You'd thought you'd seen a dark-cloaked shadow a bit farther up the path, but it must have been a mirage. You were now in the spot you'd aimed at, and Thorin was nowhere to be seen. The mouth of the cave had long vanished behind the curtain of pelting rain. You felt like you were going to drown, which was ridiculous.

Luckily there was a path of sorts, or you would have never known where to go. You soldiered on, sloshing through the ankle-deep mud more out of stubbornness than any likelihood that you would actually find Thorin. You could barely see your hand in front of your face after all. A stone toppled away beneath your foot and you slipped, dislodging more stones in the process. Your butt hit the ground, starting a small mudslide. You slid down the small incline, gaining speed as more rocks joined the shifting earth beneath you.

You were starting to panic when a strong hand grabbed your arm and swung you around and up.

You barely made out Thorin's face past the wall of rain. He hauled you into his arms so tightly it hurt and yelled something. His words were lost to the roar of the storm, but you didn't care. You were alive, and he was here.

You wrapped your arms around his neck in a stranglehold. The wind roared around you, slapping you with nearly solid sheets of water. You pressed your face into his neck, sobbing with relief.

He shifted his grip and began climbing up the path. He clearly knew where he was going. You clung to him, trying to calm down enough to stop crying.

Minutes later he ducked into another cave, still holding you tightly. The entrance was hidden behind an outcropping of rock. You would have never seen it, especially in such torrential rain.

Thorin set you on your feet.

His silence pressed on you like a weight.

"Are you hurt?" he barked, his voice still pitched to pierce the din outside.

You flinched. "What? No."

Your ankle was smarting, but it wasn't bad enough to make a fuss about.

"What did you think you were doing?" he roared. "That was a sheer drop you were heading for!"

You shook your head. You didn't want to think about it. "I'm sorry! I had to find you." Tears started rolling down your face again. "I _had_ to."

A muscle jumped in his jaw. He pulled you roughly back into his arms. You wrapped yourself around him as tightly as you could manage. "Don't leave again. Please. I promise I'll never ask you for anything again. I promise."

He groaned. His large hand came up to stroke your sodden hair. "Y/N…"

"Please, Thorin."

He sighed. "You're soaked through," was all he said. "You must take off the wet clothes."

You didn't want to let go of him. "Later."

"No. Now."

"What about you? You're as wet as I am."

"I'll do the same."

You sat on the floor to take off your boots and sodden socks.

The air in the cave was oddly warm, probably fed by a hot spring nearby. The mountain was full of them. The stone under your backside was still quite cold though. It would chill you right through, given time. While you might be desperate, you didn't want to catch a cold, or worse. "Then what?"

"Then we warm up."

There was no trace of innuendo in his voice, and yet your mind immediately served up a memory of kisses in the snow and the long warm-up session that had followed.

You fiddled with the wet hem of your shirt. "You first," you murmured.

"You are shivering," he replied. "Don't be childish."

"You first," you repeated stubbornly. The thought of undressing while he watched and didn't care was too much to bear in your current state.

Thorin got to his feet with a sigh and went to rummage in his pack. You had forgotten he had it on him, too absorbed in him and your near miss. He pulled out a rumpled tunic and tossed it in your direction. It landed on the floor between you.

Straightening, he pulled his own sodden shirt over his head, then stood there, his chest gleaming wetly in the gray light. It always took you by surprise how broad his shoulders were, how strongly defined his muscles. Every time he undressed it was like unwrapping the most perfect present — breathless anticipation, a brief moment of disbelief, then a wash of giddy delight spreading through you like champagne.

He was so matter of fact about nudity. You were too, usually — it was hard not to be after spending months in the wild with a bunch of rowdy dwarves. Somehow, though, undressing for Thorin alone had always been markedly different. Knowing he was free to look at every dip and hollow, and that looking would stir him; knowing he would step closer, until he was only one shiver, one breath away. Knowing he would eventually touch, mapping you with his hands and plundering with his lips, a conquering lord seizing a new territory. He would seek out all your secret places where shadows gathered, beckoning him — sometimes slow, sometimes impatient, sometimes breathless and rough, always deliriously arousing.

You caught his gaze. You glimpsed longing, quickly suppressed.

You looked away. Everything was different now. Thorin wasn't yours to touch. Yes, he'd more or less said he still loved you, but he'd made it sound like a sickness. An affliction that he'd be rid of if he could.

You still watched as he peeled his trousers down his legs, presenting you with a view of his flexing buttocks, then shook them out and laid them down flat off to the side to dry. When he turned back to you, he was fully naked.

Despite your resolve, the sight was a shock to the system. You'd forgotten what seeing him like this always did to you.

"Your turn," he said flatly.

You swallowed. "The tunic?"

"Is yours, unless you wish to walk around naked. There is only the one."

You hobbled forward to pick up the tunic.

Seeing your limp Thorin shook his head, then moved to grab your elbow to steady you, none too gently.

"I distinctly recall asking whether you were hurt," he said, crouching down for a closer look at your right ankle.

"It's just a sprain," you murmured. You steadied yourself with a hand on his bare shoulder and held up the foot for his inspection. "Look, it's not even swollen." You winced as he caught your foot in a careful grip, jarring your injury. "Much."

His thumb glided over the injured ankle with a feather-light touch. You wiggled your toes, coaxing a reluctant grin from him.

That rueful curl of his lips stabbed through you like a knife. As if he'd noticed, he looked up at you, still gently cradling your foot in his large hand.

Your heart was in your eyes. You knew it was, and there was nothing you could do about it.

The grin died.

He set your foot down, oh so gently, then got to his feet.

Your hand slid down his chest. Your fingers encountered an unfamiliar roughness so you tore your gaze away from his to look. This close, you could see new scrapes where before there had been only smooth skin.

Your gaze roamed over his bare chest, cataloguing everything. The most prominent change was a thin new scar near his right hipbone, already healed to a neat silvery line. It stood out sharply against his dusky skin.

"It's nothing," Thorin said. He gently took your roaming hand in his and placed it on his forearm. "A scratch. Spiders roam the Greenway still. I thought it prudent to do my part in decimating them."

You wanted to yell at him for volunteering. "That must have been a lot of spiders."

"A great deal more than expected. Thranduil may be an ass, but he's a warrior of rare skill." He shook out the dry tunic with his free hand. "Your underthings are wet as well. Take them off."

You tried to think of a suitable joke, but you were shivering too hard to come up with anything good. You slid off your bra and panties with trembling hands, hobbling on your left foot. Then you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying in vain to rub the goosebumps away.

Thorin slid his tunic over your head, then maneuvered your arms into the ample sleeves. You twisted your long wet hair into a rope, squeezing the excess water onto the floor, then fashioned a quick braid and laid it over one shoulder.

Wearing his shirt made you more self-conscious than your nakedness had. Some of his scent was caught in the fabric, teasing your nose every time you moved. The oversized tunic covered you to mid-thigh, leaving your legs bare. Your feet were nearly blue with cold, the toes curling against the frigid stone floor in a futile attempt to retain some warmth.

You felt fragile, brittle. "What now?"

"Body heat," Thorin said. You should have rejoiced. Instead, the thought of such closeness without intimacy made you cringe.

"You don't have to if you'd rather not," you said.

"I have no idea what I'd rather," he said heavily. "I cannot think around you. But you must warm up, and I am the only other one here."

"I'm so sorry."

He closed his eyes briefly, as if in pain. "Please stop saying that."

You pressed your lips together, trying not to cry. Thorin sat down on the floor and tugged you into his lap. You went along. What else could you do? He was right about sharing body heat, even if it was only for your benefit. The current temperatures would seem mild to him. Dwarves could survive in blizzards and come out no worse for wear on the other side.

He folded you close, gently but firmly. It was unavoidable that you would touch naked skin. His hard, hair-roughened thighs abraded the delicate backsides of your own thighs. His cock rested against the curve of your bum.

You tried not to move around too much, but eventually you felt a familiar hardness swelling against your bottom. Thorin's nose brushed your ear.

"I apologize," he murmured. "Your scent affects me. It will pass."

You sat there in miserable silence for a long time.

"When we get back," you began haltingly, "do you want me to move out?"

"I have not yet decided."

So he'd considered the possibility. The weight in your chest grew heavier. You had always believed that love conquered all, but that belief seemed childish now. Anger, you could have dealt with. But Thorin wasn't angry now. He seemed resigned, which was infinitely worse.

"Okay." There was nothing else you could say. "Please let me know when you do."

Your eyes were oddly dry. Everything inside you had clenched, shriveled. Crying wouldn't provide release, or cause a change of heart in Thorin. It would just be another attempt at emotional manipulation. You'd done that once, inadvertent as it had been. You wouldn't do it again.

You turned your head into his neck, inhaling his familiar scent. His blood pulsed strongly there, and only a few weeks ago you would have had the right to trace the artery with your lips, lick and nibble to your heart's content.

Now you didn't. The truth hit you like a ton of bricks. He was really done with you. Or he wanted to be, which would eventually amount to the same thing.

"How did this happen to us?" you asked. "We were so happy."

"You took all that I felt for you, the promises we made to each other, and used them to win an argument."

It hurt so much to hear it stated so plainly.

"I know what I said was wrong. I know it was unforgivable." You swallowed hard. "I just wish…"

"It was done out of love for your friends," Thorin continued as if you hadn't spoken. "I am aware of that. But in doing so you placed Tauriel's fate and Kili's need before my own love and need for you. And you expected me to fall in line. I saw it in your eyes. In that instant, you wanted to win more than you wanted me by your side." He took a deep breath. "I do not have it in me to forgive that, amrâlimê, at least not yet."

Was he right? You'd replayed that moment in your mind so often now that it had lost all connection to reality. You could no longer remember what you had thought in that moment. You just knew you'd die before you put that look on his face again.

"I'll respect your decision," you said quietly. "I won't try to persuade you. I just want you to know that I'll never, _ever_ do something like that again, as long as I live."

"I am certain you think so," Thorin said. He sounded tired. "But your heart is soft. Can you guarantee that there will never be another cause that drives you to the same desperation?"

"Yes."

"I'm afraid I do not believe that." He cupped your cheek. He was looking down at you so tenderly that your heart soared. "You are in my blood, my very being." His thumb stroked over your cheekbone. "You gutted me that night, amrâlimê. And yet a scant hour later I wanted to crawl back to you and beg your forgiveness even though I had done nothing wrong. I lost myself. It was worse than the gold sickness."

You buried your face in his chest. It felt like his words were cutting you open. The love in his eyes was so deep, but behind that you could see the implacable will that had enabled him to survive a century's worth of terrible hardship. All the love in the world wouldn't change his mind. Thorin had made his decision, and it was not in your favor.

"I have fought too long and hard to be who I am now," he murmured into your hair. "I cannot abandon myself. I did it once. I will not allow it to happen again. Not even for you."

Even though it was hopeless, you had to try. "I wouldn't ask you to."

He rubbed soothing circles over your back. "You needn't ask, sweetling. You will find the next cause I cannot afford to champion. It is only a matter of time. And then you will simply look at me with mournful eyes, and I will give in. I will turn myself inside out to be what you need, and I will hate every instant."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face against his throat. You felt like you were dying, suffocating right there in his arms. It hurt so much you couldn't even cry.

Thorin cradled you close, awake to your pain but strangely removed from it. "It will pass," he murmured into your hair. "It will pass."

No it wouldn't. The knowledge sat like a stone in your chest, killing all light. It wouldn't.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.**

         — Pablo Neruda

 

You left your shelter during a lull in the deluge. The way back was ridiculously short, though the path was treacherous and slippery with mud. Thorin held onto your hand throughout, clearly unwilling to take chances.

The moment you stepped into the cave he let go of you.

All eyes turned to you as you entered. You saw a ribald remark form on Kíli's lips, only to die when Fíli elbowed him hard. A flash of resentment pierced you, but it was gone as swiftly as it had arrived. None of this was his fault.

Soon it became clear to everyone that something bad had happened between you and Thorin. By unspoken agreement you sat in different corners of the cave, and when you took off your wet clothes to wrap yourself in a blanket, Thorin looked the other way.

To your relief, everyone knew better than to comment. They probably thought it was a run of the mill lovers' quarrel that would blow over soon. So they made sure to carry on as usual.

You had no idea how to behave. A part of you still hoped for a resolution, but you knew Thorin had to get there on his own. So you decided to behave as normally as you could, even though your heart sat in your chest like a lead weight.

Besides, regardless of your personal feelings, you had a duty to the others. You wouldn't spoil their good time if you could help it. So you smiled at Bofur's jokes, ate the food Bombur had prepared even though it tasted like ash in your mouth, and when you finally curled up on your bedroll, you were so exhausted that you slept like a log.

You woke up with silent tears running down your face. Thankfully it was early enough that you were able to wash your face and make yourself presentable before any of the others woke up.

When the Company eventually left the shelter of the cave, the sky had cleared up. The rain didn't return.

Despite your heavy heart, you managed to pull yourself together during the day. The fresh air didn't invite moping, and the mountain views were spectacular. Being in this beautiful open space was a balm to your soul after the sometimes claustrophobic life under the mountain.

To distract yourself, you talked with Balin about a number of problems in the mountain. You had responsibilities now, and until Thorin officially took them away from you, you would keep doing the work you'd signed up for. Balin's advice was excellent as usual, his eyes kind as he imparted it.

It was different at night. You missed Thorin so much you wanted to cry out with the pain of it. You'd gotten used to sleeping without him over the last few weeks, but at least you'd had his pillow to cuddle with — and the last, faint traces of his scent to soothe you. Here, you had nothing.

You went to sleep dry-eyed, but when Fíli shook you awake gently the next morning, your cheeks were wet again. While he was too polite to mention it, at least some of the Company noticed.

Everyone definitely noticed the next day, when you woke from a dream in which Thorin died fighting Azog with a gasp like a dying woman. When you reached up, you found your face was wet.

Half-awake, you turned your head frantically, searching the camp for Thorin's familiar silhouette. He stood next to Dwalin, looking off into the distance— no doubt scouting out the next leg of the trip.

You shoulders slumped in relief. Fíli crouched beside you to rub your back with a helpless expression.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked quietly.

You forced a smile, then shook your head because you didn't trust your voice not to crack. The small byplay had drawn more attention than you liked, so you got to your feet and took out the roll of washing things from your pack.

Ignoring the concerned glances, you washed in a clear, icy stream and went to get breakfast. You'd collected two bowls from Bombur before you realized what you were doing, and walked over to Thorin, offering him the fuller one.

He was talking to Dwalin. "I'm not hungry," he said without turning to look at you.

A knot of mingled pain and humiliation settled hotly in your throat. Of course he wouldn't want you to bring him breakfast. You stepped back, unsure what to do with the second bowl, or with yourself.

A frown twisted Dwalin's lips. "Well, I am," he said, leaning past Thorin to take bowl and spoon from you.

You swallowed hard. "Thank you," you whispered.

"Thank _you_ ," Dwalin said pointedly.

"Y/N!" cried Fíli from behind you. "Come join us! I need something pretty to look at while I eat my breakfast, and all that's available is Kili's ugly mug."

You chuckled wetly and went to join them.

 

* * *

 

The next day was little better. You woke up puffy-eyed and crying. You sleepwalked your way through breakfast, absently bringing Thorin another bowl only to be rejected with even less ceremony than the day before. This time you kept both bowls and ate all the oatmeal.

By midday you'd recovered somewhat, so you made a special effort to be cheerful and amiable to make up for the disastrous morning. The weather, at least, was lovely. The mountainside stretched out in front of you as far as the eye could see, a profusion of wildflowers filling the air with an amazing scent. Bofur and the princes did their best to distract you, and for a while, you forgot your troubles.

On the third night, Bofur had to wake you. Apparently, you had been thrashing and crying out Thorin's name in your sleep. You were so embarrassed that you decided on the spot that you would just stop sleeping altogether.

How hard could it be? Your dreams were awful anyway, even more awful than the admittedly crappy reality. Hopefully, if you just tired yourself out enough, you would be gone so deeply that you wouldn't make a fool of yourself again when you eventually succumbed to sleep.

 

* * *

  

The next morning, the first stirrings of dawn found you awake and shivering in your bedroll. You tiptoed past a silent Thorin towards the remains of the fire, to find Bombur going through the provisions with a mournful look on his face.

"We could do with some more meat," he said in answer to your questioning glance. "There's barely anything left."

"What kind of meat?" came Thorin's deep voice right behind your shoulder.

Your heart clenched.

"Any meat, really," Bombur said. "Venison would be best, of course, but I don't expect we have the time to hunt deer."

"I'll take care of it," Thorin said gruffly. "Go on without me. I'll catch up."

Five minutes later he had collected his weapons and vanished into the underbrush. Most of the camp was still asleep.

You joined Bombur in tidying up and tried not to worry. Thorin was one of the greatest Dwarven warriors alive. He would be fine.

 

* * *

 

By dusk Thorin still hadn't returned. The worry that had nagged at you for most of the day was growing more insistent every minute.

At Balin's urging the Company made camp in a clearing straight out of a fairytale. It would soon be too dark to go on anyway. A few minutes' foraging yielded more than enough kindling for an impressive fire.

You had just sat down to take off your boots when a piercing, wrathful squeal rent the air. You jumped to your feet, noticing that Dwalin and the others did the same. Fíli's knives were out. He was looking around with narrowed eyes, scanning the underbrush.

More squeals sounded in the distance, followed by a long screech that made your hair stand on end. To your bafflement, everyone around you relaxed.

Bombur grinned widely as he extracted a couple of wicked looking knives from his pack. "I'd say that's better than venison any day. Build a spit, friends," he called. "We dine on wild boar tonight!"

Cheers and whoops greeted that announcement. Balin just shook his head, clearly a lot less enthused about the whole thing than the rest.

When Thorin stomped into the clearing a little while later, you immediately understood why. The boar was huge. Not quite as massive as a warg but large enough to be dangerous even to a fighter as skilled as Thorin.

It took two people to divest Thorin of his burden. To your surprise Dori, who was usually too fastidious for this kind of thing, took the boar and set to preparing it.

"He wants the pelt," Bofur told you in an offhand whisper, seeing your confusion. You nodded absently, your eyes on Thorin.

When he sat down and took his knife out for a thorough clean, rather than Orcrist, you had to physically hold on to the boulder you were sitting on. Otherwise you would have stomped over to him to give him a piece of your mind. Going against that thing with just a knife! What was he _thinking_!

You didn't eat a single bite of the boar when it was served, and barely touched the meager sides. The thought that Thorin had risked his life on the hunt tightened your stomach to the size of a shriveled prune. Even worse, he might do it again soon and you had no right to interfere.

Already you knew you wouldn't sleep a wink that night.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

**Where beauty is, then there is ugliness;**   
**where right is, also there is wrong.**   
**Knowledge and ignorance are interdependent;**   
**delusion and enlightenment condition each other.**

     — Ryokan

 

You lay in your bedroll, dozing lightly, yet deeply aware of Thorin's silent presence a ways off the camp. Despite what must have been an exhausting hunt, he'd insisted on keeping watch tonight.

A rustle behind you alerted you that someone else was awake. Dwalin's hulking shape moved silently past the snoring sleepers to join Thorin at his post.

A minute later, Dwalin's rough baritone startled you fully awake.

"What are you doing to that girl, Thorin?"

It was a booming accusation and you cringed, expecting everyone to wake along with you. Thankfully, nobody did. The snoring continued unabated, without so much as a hitch. Then came Thorin's voice, so quiet that you had to strain to hear what he was saying.

"That is between me and her."

He was right. Except that by now everyone had noticed something was off, and keeping them from interfering would be a nightmare. You rubbed at your tired eyes. You should really give some sign that you were awake. That might keep Dwalin from pestering Thorin, and eavesdropping on a private conversation wasn't okay in any situation anyway.

However, the thought of getting up and turning an awkward situation even more awkward curdled your stomach. No matter how much you told yourself you should just suck it up and do the right thing, your muscles didn't seem to get the memo. Instead, you buried your face in your rolled-up cloak and tried to muffle the voices ringing so clearly through the night air.

"You know me," Dwalin said, adjusting his volume to something more appropriate for the middle of the night, "I'm not one to speak out of turn. But whatever she might have done, what ye're doing now isn't right."

You bit your lip when Thorin's low voice broke the silence. You had expected a harsh rebuke. Instead, his tone was mild when he asked, "Have you ever known me to be less than fair?"

"Fair?" Dwalin let out a humorless chuckle. "This is not one of your goat disputes, Thorin. Or a squabble over mining rights. This is your _wife_."

"She's not my wife yet." Thorin's voice was harsher now.

"Don't you start splitting hairs with me. You called her your queen. You've bedded her so often the wedding's little more than a formality by now. You're as good as married and ye know it. Or are ye not the one who slaved over that betrothal necklace for months, and then paraded her in jeweled dresses before the whole of Erebor?"

"That was before."

Hot tears stung your eyes.

"Before what? Short of cheating on you, what could she have done that's so heinous? And don't tell me she cheated — that girl looks at you like you hung the moon and stars."

"She thought to lead me around by a leash," Thorin growled. There was so much anger in his voice that you recoiled. You tried telling yourself that anger was good. It meant he was not yet done with you, not truly.

Dwalin chuckled again. "That's it? That's practically part and parcel of marriage! Glóin's wife—"

"Glóin is not king," Thorin snapped harshly. "I cannot be ruled by another in my own home."

"Ah, so that's what's got you in such a tizzy. Fair enough."

There was a long stretch of silence. Even when they argued, Dwalin and Thorin were comfortable with each other's silence in a way few people managed. Whatever else happened, you were happy Thorin had a friend like that.

"I assume you argued right before you left for Mirkwood." Dwalin said eventually.

"Aye."

"May I ask what about?"

"She wanted me to grant Tauriel asylum."

"Ah." There was a wealth of understanding in that sound. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her no. It's an asinine idea. I thought she understood politics well enough, but she wouldn't take no for an answer."

"I gather it got heated," Dwalin remarked mildly.

"You could say that."

"She yell at you?"

"She threatened to break our betrothal."

"I see. She hides that fire of hers so well, sometimes I forget it's there." Dwalin sounded grimly approving. "And what did she do when you returned?"

"She apologized."

"Did she, now." Dwalin's voice held so much satisfaction, you had to struggle not to smile despite the heartbreak. _Dwalin Fundinsson, master interrogator._

"It doesn't matter, Dwalin. In the end I gave in, despite my better judgment." Thorin's voice was rough with self-loathing. "I went to Thranduil's feasts. I sat there for hours and watched him drink his weight in wine. I endured his tedious conversation and sneering jests just so I could find the right moment to hint that Kíli is smitten with Tauriel."

Hearing the pain in his voice hurt so much. No wonder he didn't want anything to do with you. He'd gone against his instincts, his old grudges, everything that told him it was a bad idea, all because of you.

"Did he take the hint?" Dwalin asked after a long silence.

Thorin snorted. "He may be a prick but he's no fool. He understood right away that it might make a useful link between our people. And if Tauriel were to be betrothed to a prince of my house, he would have managed to place a liaison in Erebor without losing face."

"So it all turned out well. Why are you still angry?"

"It may not have. It was a risk, one I would have never taken if not for her."

Dwalin snorted. "Since when are you risk-averse?"

"I need to know my decisions are my own. I cannot be in thrall to my own wife."

"You think she'll make a habit out of asking you for things you cannot give?"

"I do not think she'll want to. But she is soft, Dwalin. She will not be able to help herself."

But you would. If only you could make Thorin believe that… You clenched your fists. No. You'd promised not to pressure him. If there was even a slim chance of forgiveness, he'd have to get there on his own.

"She's young," Dwalin said harshly. "I think you forget quite _how_ young. I seem to remember a young prince who was constantly pestering his grandfather to right some wrong or other in the mines."

This was news to you, but it sounded like Thorin. He cared deeply about his people. You could vividly picture him as an earnest young prince trying to improve working conditions for his people.

"That was different," Thorin rumbled.

"Different how?" Dwalin's accent was growing thicker with each word, a sure sign he was angry and getting angrier. "Make no mistake, it's no skin off my back if you want to throw away the best thing that happened to ye. Ye can be as much of a fool as you like. But I've never known ye t'be a coward, and those were a coward's words."

"Say that again," Thorin growled. Low, menacing.

"I'll say it as often as you like. That girl would crawl for ye, Thorin. She already has, if you'll remember. And unlike you, she's a quick learner. I for one haven't known her to repeat a mistake. How often has she apologized again?"

"Five times."

"So you kept count."

Stubborn silence.

"Thorin… Your decisions can't ever be wholly your own again if you marry. Even I know that. That doesn't change just because you're a king. Wantin' to please your wife isn't the worst thing in the world either. Mahal knows she turns herself inside out all the time to please you. It's all 'what would Thorin think' and 'are you sure he'll want it done like that', all day long. It can drive a fellow batty."

"What do you want me to do, Dwalin?"

"No, no, don't you put this on me. This mess is all yours. But tomorrow when she brings you breakfast and you turn up your nose at it again, look at her. Look her in the eyes. Own what you're doing to her."

Silence fell heavily again. Minutes trickled past, until you wondered whether their talk had even taken place, or had been merely a fabrication of your fevered mind.

The darkness flickered before your eyes, full of lightning-edged shadows. Your eyelids drifted slowly shut.

"One last thing," Dwalin growled suddenly. You jerked awake. "About Tauriel."

"Dwalin…" It was a warning snarl. "That's enough."

"In my opinion, it's a good thing you did it. It cost you little enough effort," Dwalin continued, undeterred. "But you went to that Elven pansy on your own. Your lady didn't drag you there in chains, she didn't tell you what to say. She wasn't even there. You did that all by your lonesome. So don't put that on _her_."

"Dwalin."

"I know you, Thorin Oakenshield," Dwalin said roughly. "I'm your best friend in all the world, and I'm telling you right now that you're the most stubborn oaf I've ever met. If you truly don't want to do something, a hundred wild wargs won't make you budge a whit. She wouldn't manage it either."

Thorin got to his feet. " _Enough_."

Dwalin remained seated. "Not yet. I won't shut up until I've said my piece." His accent thickened again as he grew more incensed. "You're trying to tell me that just because she let her mouth run without her brain for once, ye turned into a puppet of hers for weeks? _Please_. My guess is that you set to cogitatin' in that stubborn head of yours and found a way to do what she asked without makin' too much of a splash. And now you're sore that you gave in at all. You have the Valar's own pride, Thorin Oakenshield, and don't you try to tell me any different. It wasn't the poor girl's feelings what made you soft. You're not soft, or you'd have more trouble twistin' the knife every morning and goin' about yer day like nothing happened while she's all but bleedin'. Stop lyin' to yourself, pull that great big head out of your ass and screw it on straight before it's too late."

Dwalin rose to his feet with a clank of weaponry. "G'night. I hope you have shitty dreams."

Thorin stood outlined against the starry sky, fists clenched at his sides, as Dwalin shuffled back to his bedroll and settled back in with a racket. You wanted so badly to go to him, to offer comfort, even though you knew it wouldn't be welcomed.

Instead, you clutched the thin blanket closer to your chest and wondered how you'd gotten here when only a few weeks ago, you'd been so very happy.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Hell** **is not punishment,  
       it's training.**

       — Shunryu Suzuki

 

Drained by worry and heartbreak, you dozed off for a short while when the first traces of pale light suffused the horizon, washing out the stars. When you woke again the sky was a dim purple edged with blush and Thorin was gone.

You forced yourself to get up. After packing up your bedroll, you went to Dwalin and placed a hand on his arm in mute thanks. You had no idea whether he understood what you were trying to say, but he nodded gravely at you anyway.

"Do you know where Thorin went?" you asked quietly.

"Out huntin'," he said.

Your stomach tightened with fear. It must have shown in your eyes, because Dwalin placed a heavy hand on your shoulder.

"He's the greatest of our warriors," he said quietly. "Better than me. Whatever his burdens, they won't dull his mind in combat, I promise you."

You swallowed hard. "Thank you."

Dwalin's jaw tightened. He seemed to be fighting an unusual inner struggle. "He'll come to his senses in the end," he muttered gruffly. "You'll see."

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and fled.

Washing up in a cold mountain stream toned down your reddened eyes a bit, and woke you enough that you could finish packing and fall into step with the rest of the Company as they broke camp.

After that, the day was a blur. You kept to yourself, too tired to make conversation or do more than set one foot in front of the other. Balin seemed lost in his own morose thoughts; everyone else seemed cheerfully oblivious to the danger Thorin was courting.

You nearly collapsed in relief when the onset of dusk brought a familiar figure strolling into the clearing where the Company was setting up camp, another giant boar slung over his shoulders. You rushed forward to greet him, only to come to an awkward halt halfway as you remembered he wasn't yours to welcome anymore. It was just as well you did, because Bombur was already there, and he would have bowled you over in his rush to get to Thorin; you'd never seen him move so fast. The others closed in quickly, eagerly congratulating their king on another successful hunt.

Turning away from the excited chatter, you rubbed a hand over your aching forehead and pushed down the tears that clogged your throat. At least nobody had noticed your odd behavior. They were all transfixed by the huge animal Thorin had brought down. Bombur was so overcome, he was nearly in tears.

"Blessings be on you, my king," he whispered.

Thorin gave him a manly shoulder squeeze. He looked uncomfortable. "Ah, none of that now," he muttered.

Bombur must be a great fan of boar. The Company's cheers were a little more subdued this time, but they dug in enthusiastically enough once the meat was nicely roasted.

You knew you should follow suit. You were already past hunger, in that dim space where one's head got a little fuzzy and one's stomach walls seemed to be stuck together. You just couldn't. The smell of roasted boar was both mouth watering and nauseating. You munched on a piece of stale bread instead and did your best to be sociable.

Bombur had placed some leaf-wrapped potatoes to bake in the hot ashes next to the main fire. Once they were done you took one, glad you had something to keep busy with for the rest of the meal.

You blew on a forkful of potato as you let your gaze roam idly over the assembled Company. It was good to be together again like this — nicer still without Azog on your trail and a dragon looming on the horizon. Erebor was won, and it was growing more splendid by the day. Whatever else happened, this was a cheering thought. So many displaced dwarves now had a home again, one they could be proud of.

Bofur leaned towards you. "Penny for your thoughts, pretty lady?"

"I was just thinking how lucky we are to be here like this," you said quietly. "All of us, together."

"Fortunate indeed," Bofur said. "I couldn't have pictured such a rosy future during our quest if you'd paid me."

You blinked tiredly at him. "Really? You always seemed so optimistic, back then."

"Not this optimistic," Bofur said with a wry smile. "All of us surviving to hold positions of great esteem? Earning riches beyond compare? I couldn't have conceived of that in my wildest dreams."

Fíli got up quietly and moved to sit to your right, nudging Dwalin aside. Dwalin allowed it with a grunt. Kíli followed suit, only Bofur wouldn't let himself be nudged away.

Kíli shrugged and sat down behind you. A tug at your hair indicated he'd taken out his brush.

"Missing your pony?" you asked wryly. Kíli's pony Sugarplum was terribly pretty, and he was forever sneaking into the stables to braid her mane.

"Yes. Her mane is prettier, but you'll do in a pinch." The brush moved in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.

You yawned.

"Start braiding or I'll fall asleep," you murmured.

"How can I resist such a delicately worded entreaty?" Kili grunted, but didn't stop brushing.

You slapped at his hands. "I mean it. I don't want to fall asleep."

"Whyever not? You look like you could use it," he said thoughtlessly.

"Why, thank you, Prince Charming."

"You're welcome," he began, and then you felt him jerk violently — Fíli must have elbowed him. There was a brief silence, then Kíli muttered a subdued, "Uh. Sorry."

You sighed. You were so very tired. "Don't mention it."

And then… "You get nightmares?"

You turned your head to stare at him and winced when the sudden motion pulled sharply on your hair.

Bofur ran a hand over his face with a sigh, while Fíli just shook his head at Kíli. "Where have you _been_?" he hissed. "She just woke up crying for three days straight…"

You were suddenly extremely thankful that Thorin was a good way away, staring broodingly into the fire.

"Yes, I noticed. I'm not an idiot."

Fíli's eyes narrowed. "Could have fooled me."

"Guys, guys," you interjected. "Let's not fight."

"You heard the lady," Kíli said smugly. "No fighting."

Fíli subsided with a glower. You squeezed his hand in silent thanks for his patience.

They fell silent for a while. You nearly fell asleep as Kíli began meticulously separating your hair into even sections.

"Listen, this thing between you and Thorin…" he began. You jerked awake at the sound of Thorin's name. Behind you, Kíli grunted. Fíli must have hit him again. A scuffle ensued, jostling you so hard you nearly fell into Bofur's lap. The older dwarf caught you and pulled you smoothly out of the line of fire.

"Will you stop that!" he hissed at the two brothers. They stopped fighting. Kíli pulled you back in front of him so he could restart your braid.

"Where was I?" he muttered absently. "Ah. You and Thorin…"

Fíli's eyes snapped fire at his brother. "Will you stop asking inappropriate questions?"

"Will you stop hovering over her like a mother hen?"

"Can't you see she's fragile?"

" _Boys_ ," you snapped sharply. " _She_ can still speak for herself."

Fíli's eyes softened. "My apologies. I didn't mean to offend you. I merely wish to spare you more heartache."

"I know. Thank you." You turned to Kíli. "Thorin's not up for discussion."

Kíli sighed. "I just want to help. I don't like seeing you like this. You move like an old woman. And you never used to have nightmares before."

Your sigh shifted midway into a yawn. "One day," you said lightly once you were done yawning, "I'm going have to explain to you what a filter is, and how it keeps people from being murdered in their sleep."

Fíli's eyebrow rose. "I wish to be included in that conversation, please."

You smiled at them and yawned again. "You got it. Anyway, it's not true that I didn't have nightmares. I had them all the time, after Rivendell. I used to dream I'd wake up and find all of you beheaded, or worse."

"I never noticed…" Fíli said in a tone that indicated he considered it a personal failing at the same time as Kíli piped up: "What's worse than beheaded?"

"Tortured and then beheaded." You should have thought that was obvious.

Kíli nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose that would be worse. Although beheading is still nicer than, say, quartering. Or—"

Fíli hit him again. "She doesn't need any more nightmares, you dimwit." Then he turned to you. "Why did you never say? Óin had potions for dreamless sleep."

You shrugged. "It's not like I was wounded or anything, just scared. I didn't want to be more of a burden than I already was."

Bofur leaned forward. "Young lady, are you putting yourself down again?Must I give you a stern talking to?"

You shrugged. "It's the truth though. Tell me a single thing I was useful at during the quest," you said. "I dare you."

"You cheered us up," Bofur replied promptly.

"You distracted Thorin," Kíli added. "He was only half as grumpy whenever you were looking on."

"Besides, you've proven plenty useful later," Bofur said.

"That's true," Kíli said.

"You should be proud of yourself," added Fíli earnestly. "I am."

You bit your lip to stop the tears from welling up out of nowhere, and thanked him politely. You were so incredibly tired, every little thing set you off.

Silence descended again.

"Hah," Kili muttered after an eternity of tugging your hair every which way. "This is going to be perfect. Now to finish it off…"

He proceeded to search his pockets one-handed, while his left held the hair tight at the nape of your neck.

With a triumphant noise he extracted a richly worked hairpiece from a hidden compartment in his boot, of all places. You barely got a glimpse of glittering gems strung on thin, fine chains before he started working it into an intricate weave at the nape of your neck. After a few minutes of silent work, you heard the click of a smaller clasp.

"There", he said with satisfaction. "All done."

Bofur's eyes widened as you turned your head to thank Kíli and he saw the jewels glinting at the end of your braid. He raised an eyebrow and caught Kíli's eye. "Living dangerously, I see," he said slowly.

Seeing Bofur's expression, Fíli asked you you turn the other way so he could also see his brother's work. And then he took a closer look and blanched.

" _Brother_ ," he hissed. "You didn't."

"What? Tell me if you've ever seen two people more in love. The whole thing is ridiculous."

"And you think your meddling is going to accomplish anything?"

"They'll certainly have to talk now, won't they," Kili muttered. "Among other things."

A headache started throbbing behind your eyes. Your brain felt like a big ball of candy floss — all sticky and muddled.

"What's going on?" you demanded. "What did you do?"

"Nothing."

You narrowed your eyes at him.

"All right, nothing much! I put a wedding hairpiece in your hair. It may or may not have Thorin's name on it."

"You did _what_?"

"It's not like you're not nearly married anyway."

You fumbled frantically at your hair, searching for a way to get the damn thing out. "No!" cried Fíli and Kíli at the same time. Across the fire, Thorin lifted his head, giving you a sharp look.

You closed your fist around the shining clasp, hoping he hadn't seen it already, and turned to Kíli. " _Explain_ ," you bit out through gritted teeth.

It was Fíli who spoke. "It is tradition that only the King can undo the queen's hair when she wears this particular piece of jewelry."

"I'm not a queen."

Bofur grimaced. "Yes, well, that's debatable. You fulfill many of the queen's duties. At this point, the marriage is a bit of a formality only, I'm afraid."

"So what happens if I take it out anyway?"

Bofur held your gaze earnestly. "A long streak of very bad luck for the whole mountain, so please don't."

Splendid. You sucked in a shuddering breath and tried to calm yourself. Thorin was still looking, his eyes narrow and assessing. You forced a smile.

"All right," you said pleasantly. "I'll go to Thorin, explain this little piece of idiocy, and ask him to take it out for me. And then I'm going to come back here and we'll never speak of this again."

Fíli cringed visibly. "That... Will not work."

You fought for patience. "Why would that be?"

You waited, but no explanation was forthcoming.

"What the princes are too afraid to say," Bofur murmured, "is that it's not enough for the king to remove the clasp. He needs to consummate the marriage after."

Good god. "How soon after?"

"Within the hour if I remember right," Fíli muttered, looking miserable.

"That's honestly written down somewhere? Their majesties must copulate within the hour after the king undoes the queen's hair?"

"As far as I recall the wording is slightly more elaborate," Fíli said apologetically, "but essentially yes."

"As far as you know? So that's not first-hand knowledge, is it?" You were grasping at straws and you knew it.

"It's been a while since Amad made me read the marriage tomes," Fíli admitted. "Twenty years at least. Could have been a day instead of an hour, I suppose, but not longer."

You fought not to hyperventilate. "Does anyone know for sure?" You turned your stare on Kíli, who shrugged.

"I mostly looked at the pictures," he said. "It's an illuminated manuscript," he added helpfully. "There are some rather good illustrations…" His face fell when you glared at him. "Anyway, specifying a time frame for the, uh, delivery of goods isn't unusual. It's a dwarf thing. We like our contracts neat."

You gritted your teeth. "Clearly. So what happens if he removes it and fails to consummate?"

Bofur sighed. "Well…"

You rubbed at your temples, trying in vain to dislodge the headache building there. "Let me guess: bad luck."

" _Very_ bad luck."

"And you all believe this."

"Very much so. There is, uh… _precedent_."

You _so_ didn't want to know. "Kíli, I swear I'm going to _kill_ you. Where did you even get that thing?"

"M'mother gave it to me to give to Thorin if he found a lady worth his time."

"So why do you still have it?"

"To be honest, I forgot it was in my old boots until just now. I put them away after we got here. I only took them back out 'cause I thought I'd use them for old times' sake, y'know?"

Bofur rolled his eyes.

"What?" Kili said defensively. "It's not like I don't have problems of my own."

"Oh, cry me a river," you snapped.

A quick glance in Thorin's direction showed that he was now deep in discussion with Balin. Hastily, you tore a wide strip of cloth from the hem of your tunic and slapped it into Fíli's hand. "Can you please cover the hairpiece with this? Make sure it's not visible? The last thing I need is for Thorin to see it."

Fíli complied without comment. It took a few pins to keep the fabric in place at the back of your head, but it worked, even if your braid now looked like a fat sausage. Thank god for small mercies.

You pointed at Kíli. "If my hair falls out because I can never wash it again, I'm holding you responsible."

"I don't think that's how it works..."

"Not. A. Word," you growled. And here you'd thought things couldn't get any worse.

At least you were now so angry, you barely noticed your exhaustion anymore. With luck, it would be easier to stay awake than it had been last night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Tic** **, tac, and we move**  
to that place of lesser resistance,  
where inertia rests,  
and there is no danger.

       — Luis Gil de la Puente

 

The next day, when the pink light of dawn met your aching eyes, you crawled to your feet in a daze. You hadn't slept a wink. You looked down at your fingers, counting painstakingly. What did two and one make again? Ah. Three days without sleep now.

The world was oddly hazy when you packed your bedroll. Thorin was there for once. You were so surprised to see him that you handed him your breakfast bowl automatically. As you belatedly realized what you'd done you expected the usual rejection, but he surprised you by taking the offered bowl. He studied your face with a frown as he did so.

You gave him a vague nod, unable to process so much attention from him after days of nothing, and turned away to get another bowl. Picking up the spoon with little enthusiasm, you tried some. It tasted like cardboard mixed with glue. You placed the spoon back into the bowl as you chewed and swallowed, knowing you wouldn't be able to stomach another spoonful. Then you sat there numbly until it was time to clear the dishes away.

You had never known quite such an exhaustion — or if you had, you didn't remember it. It was nearly restful to drift, feeling nothing at all. Your hands, lying in your lap like dead birds, seemed to belong to another person entirely. You pondered that idly as the Company broke camp all around you, did all the things you usually helped with — dousing the remains of the fire and covering it with fresh earth, washing up and packing and cleaning up after themselves.

You only looked up when Fíli's face appeared in your line of sight. He placed a hand on your shoulder.

"We're leaving now," he said, studying you with worried eyes.

You let him pull you to your feet. He helped you shoulder your small backpack and grabbed your elbow when you promptly stumbled over a small mole hill.

"Are you well?" he murmured.

You offered him the same airy nod you'd given Thorin. "Never better," you droned.

Thorin frowned in your direction.

You started walking. For a while that was restful too. Placing one foot in front of the other, again and again until the steps melted together. The grass was bright green and soft, dotted with wildflowers. After a while it smeared into a wash of colored brush strokes.

You felt so light. Your head was like a balloon, ready to take off into the sky. You would begin floating any minute now… How lovely it would be. Being weightless, carried through the air in lazy sweeps like dandelion fluff.

You let your head fall back and looked up through your lashes.

The sky, was a smear of vivid blue, like a child's painting.

Ever so slowly, it started spinning.

 

* * *

 

 

When you woke, it was to a circle of worried faces above you. Thorin's was not among them.

"Hey guys," you said weakly.

You were no longer on the ground. You were reclining on something hard. A familiar hand prodded at a bump on your forehead and then Thorin's face leaned into view.

He was there after all.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he demanded in a hoarse rasp.

You tugged his hand away from the sore spot. "Not on purpose."

"Make room!" cried Ori.

The sea of faces retreated to make room for Óin.

After a brief examination the elderly healer leaned back and patted your hand. "You must eat a bit more," he said with a cautious glance at Thorin, whose jaw was clenched so hard you were afraid he'd do himself an injury. "Drink some more, too. And sleep, though I'm afraid you can't just now. You've a bit of a bump there. Thorin, the old outpost is rather close by. I suggest a good night's sleep in a real bed will do us all good."

"Very well," Thorin said. "Fíli. Dwalin."

The prince crouched before you. Dwalin followed at a more leisurely pace. "Uncle?"

"Take care of her. Make certain she doesn't fall again. Carry her if you must."

Fíli nodded. "Of course, Uncle." He picked you up as Thorin transferred your weight easily into his arms.

"Where are you going?" Dwalin drawled.

Getting to his feet, Thorin unbuckled Orcrist from his back and handed it to Kíli.

"To kill something," he said grimly. "Make for the outpost. I'll meet you there."

Your heart dropped, but Dwalin looked grimly satisfied as he watched Thorin disappear into the underbrush.

"You heard the king," he bellowed then, making you wince. Your head hurt. "We leave for the outpost!"

"You can put me down now," you told Fíli once Thorin had vanished into the underbrush. "Don't want you to hurt something."

"Are you kidding? I'll have to keep you from floating away."

You sighed and laid your head on his shoulder. "It's your back."

"So it is."

His steadily rocking pace soon had your eyes slide shut. Your head still throbbed, but that didn't make staying awake any easier.

Fíli shook you a little, startling you. "Don't you fall asleep on me now."

"Okay," you muttered, struggling to open your eyes. "Okay. Talk to me, or I'll fall asleep again."

"Did I tell you about that time Kíli got in trouble with Amad for replacing all the outfits in a visiting dignitary's closet with lady clothes?"

You blinked, exhaustion forgotten. "Do tell."

 

* * *

 

The Company reached the outpost just before sundown. It was a huge conglomerate of stone buildings made to accommodate a minor army. Enclosed by thick forest on three sides and a sheer cliff face on the fourth, and surrounded by a massive stone wall, it was rather imposing. There was no one there, but the dwarves must be planning to revive it, because it was in good shape, mostly clean and fully stocked with provisions as well as such things as bed linens and animal feed.

The Company chose to stay in the main building. It was the most well-appointed one, made to house the commanders of any troops stationed there as well as their entourage. The large bedroom upstairs housed enough beds for two dozen people.

As much as you would have enjoyed sleeping in a proper bed, you didn't feel like sharing your sleeping space with your friends for once. There was no way you could manage to get through another sleepless night, and you really didn't want anyone to witness your nightmares.

Longing for a little time to yourself, you chose to place your bedroll or a wide, padded bench downstairs. It was in a cozy corner a short way away from the fireplace, so you wouldn't freeze your ass off during the increasingly chilly nights. With a little work it looked nearly as inviting as the beds upstairs. Thorin wasn't yet back, and apparently nobody else wanted to argue with you, so they let you have your bench without protest.

Bombur cooked dinner, consisting mainly of boar with different seasonings. The dwarves had just dug in with every evidence of enjoyment when someone kicked the door open.

A hulking shape stood there, outlined in silvery moonlight. It took you a moment to recognize Thorin, with a veritable monster animal slung across his shoulders.

He gave a mighty heave. His burden slammed to the floorboards with a ground-shaking thud.

"Ah, more boar!" Bombur announced, getting hastily to his feet. If his brightness seemed a little contrived, Thorin didn't appear to notice. "And such a large one, too! We may have to spend another few days here so I can preserve it properly…" He dragged the carcass away, muttering to himself all the while.

Thorin took off his cloak and sat down at the long wooden table. With a wary glance, Kíli passed him a full plate.

"So," Bofur said with false cheer, "how did you bring that one down? Ori will want to know, for the histories." He elbowed Ori in the side.

"Who- what?" Ori hastily tried to swallow the meat he was chewing. "Oh. Yes, yes of course. Was it a knife again? A marvelous feat, to be sure."

"No." Thorin pushed the nearly full plate aside. For someone who had just spent yet another full day hunting prehistoric boars, he displayed all the appetite of a middle-aged Hollywood actress.

"Oh, did you use Orcrist this time?" asked Ori, who clearly had the observational skills of an inebriated gnat. "Prudent, that beast was a whopper and no mistake!"

"Hands," Thorin growled. "I used my hands."

"Oh."

"I broke its neck," Thorin continued. "Would you like to know the details?"

"Perhaps not at the dinner table," said Balin with a meaningful look in your direction.

Your horror must have shown vividly on your face, because even Thorin looked slightly chastised.

Hastily, Bofur launched into a complicated tale of some heist or other, assisted by Nori.

"Please excuse me," you murmured. Very carefully, you sat up and walked away.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**In this part of the story I am the one who dies**

     — Pablo Neruda

 

 

You had been gone for several minutes when Thorin narrowed his eyes at Dwalin for the third time in as many minutes, hoping the sheer force of his displeasure would be enough to make his friend follow you.

So far, this strategy was failing abysmally.

"Dwalin."

Dwalin rolled his eyes. "She wants to be alone for a bleedin' minute, Thorin. I for one can't blame her. Goin' against that thing barehanded was foolhardy, even for you."

Thorin ignored the rebuke. Dwalin had risked worse on any number of occasions.

"She could get hurt," he told Dwalin tightly.

His friend snorted. "She's only a few steps away, for Mahal's sake, not off wandering in the forest. She'll be fine."

"Have you _met_ her?"

Dwalin sighed. "If you're so worried, you can go."

With a final glare, Thorin shoved his seat back and went.

Contrary to Dwalin's belief, you weren't on the column-lined porch, or anywhere in the unkempt front yard.

Thorin's blood iced over. He was about to call out to the others when he saw one of the lanterns in the stables being turned up.

He was moving before he could think better of it.

 

* * *

 

You sucked in deep breaths of the night air, trying to calm down and failing.

That beast had been huge. Easily as large as a warg, and probably as dangerous. What had possessed Thorin to go up against it bare-handed? He could have died. He could die tomorrow if he persisted in doing such crazily dangerous things.

But he wouldn't talk to you and you couldn't force him.

You needed to hit something or you would explode, but throwing a tantrum where everyone could hear would be counterproductive.

You would have loved to walk into the forest and just scream yourself hoarse. But the wilderness was dangerous everywhere, especially this far from Erebor. You headed to the stables instead. They were close enough to the main outpost, and well-lit by lanterns Dori had spent a whole hour cleaning.

The wide doors opened with barely a creak. Apparently Dori had oiled the hinges, too. As you stepped inside, the smell of dry hay filled your nose.

You turned up two of the lanterns just enough so you wouldn't fall and crack your head open in the dark, then leaned your forehead against the wall, trying to gather your ragged thoughts.

You missed Thorin in your life so much. He clearly didn't miss you the same way, or he wouldn't risk getting killed just to get away from you. Briefly, you considered going back to Erebor just so he'd stop. But of course you couldn't. You had your talents; surviving in the wilderness was not one of them, and asking one of the others to take you was out of the question.

You were trapped.

A bout of self-pity flooded you, so strong it threatened to drown you. You hated this. Hated feeling weak, the nightmares, the tears that flooded your eyes at the slightest provocation.

You needed to vent, or you were going to combust. You settled on slapping the timber wall so hard your palm went numb. The planks were rough and you winced at the sting. Then you hit the wall again, this time with your fist. The sharp pain was better than the unbearable knot in your stomach.

You were aware you were being ridiculous and terribly over-dramatic. It didn't seem to matter.

Another hit, so you wouldn't think anymore, and another. The coppery smell of blood rose from your shredded skin, gathered thickly in your nostrils. You leaned your forehead against the wall, shoulders quaking with horrible dry sobs, feeling the burn in your knuckles and wishing it hurt worse, wishing you were strong enough to hit the wood again and again.

Warm hands closed around your shoulders, pulling you away from the wall. A callused thumb swiped the tears away from your cheeks, then Thorin picked up your hand and blew gently on the torn flesh.

"Ah, dearling. What did you do to yourself?"

Your throat closed.

You tugged your hand out of his grasp, shrinking back against the wall. It took several hiccuping breaths until you'd calmed down enough to speak. "You can't be done with me and then touch me like I'm yours."

The soft concern in Thorin's eyes iced over as his features stiffened into a courtly mask. "Harming yourself solves nothing," he said, looking at your hand.

You sucked in another shuddering breath, wishing you weren't such a crybaby. "N-not all of us can hunt giant boars bare-handed when they need to vent."

Thorin's dead-eyed expression flickered for a moment.

"Are you going to hunt tomorrow?" you asked.

"No."

You slumped in relief. "Thank you."

Again, emotion flickered over his expression, too quick to discern.

"You must take better care of yourself," he said then, flatly.

Your hands clenched into fists. Suddenly, the hiccups that had plagued you were gone, washed away by an anger so fierce you felt like you were burning. "Look," you told him harshly, "you've made your decision. You have _no_ say in how I deal with it. _None_. I keep to myself. I try not to bother you. I try not to be maudlin, or pleading, or manipulative. But it _hurts_ , Thorin. It hurts so bad, and it's not like I can cry on anyone's shoulder. I can't talk to anyone because you're their _king_ , Thorin, or their uncle or whatever, and it would be wrong. Also, I'm exhausted and I need a hug and I can't have one. So forgive me if I chose to release some steam before I did something really stupid."

Thorin's mouth was compressed into a tight line. A muscle jumped rhythmically in his jaw.

"You don't want me here," you continued," and frankly, I'd like nothing more than to accommodate you. But we both know how good I am at roughing it alone... which means I'm stuck here for however long this trip is going to take. So you can damn well at least have the courtesy to give me some space."

You took a deep breath and found you were shivering. The anger had melted away as suddenly as it had come, leaving you utterly drained.

"Are you planning to leave?" Thorin asked, voice sharp.

You pressed the heels of your palms against your aching eyes. "I just _said_ —"

"When we return to Erebor," Thorin clarified tightly. "Are you planning to leave."

How you wished you could. "No. Not unless you make me. I can't abandon my responsibilities. I have too many. So I'll have years to watch you go about your day without me. And when you find someone else I promise I'll be as dignified as you need me to be, but not now."

Thorin stepped closer. "There will be no one else," he said roughly.

You stared up at him. "What?"

"You will never have to contend with another taking your place. That much I can promise you."

God, he was killing you. "Is this a joke? You can't make promises like that. You don't know what's going to happen. You could meet someone—"

Thorin's eyes blazed with sudden anger. "I can and I will. I swear on my life that I will never take another for my own."

You shook your head. " _No_. You take that back. I don't want to be your ball and chain, Thorin. I want you to be happy. If I can't make you happy then you'll have to find someone else who will."

"I will _not_ ," Thorin growled. His palm hit the wall as he leaned into you, at once desperate and menacing. "I cannot love another. I cannot hold another, touch her and kiss her like I would you. I am not so inconstant, or so foolish, to seek a lesser love when I have known you."

You wrapped both arms around your middle, trying desperately to hold in an ache that felt like it would blow you apart. You didn't want to get your hopes up, but a small, pathetic part of you was still ready to grasp at every straw. "I don't understand," you whispered.

Thorin's nose brushed your hair. "I need more time. But know this: I am _not_ done with you. I can scarcely think of anything else. So please," his mouth skimmed your temple, " _Please_ try not to damage yourself any more before I can sort this out."

You leaned into the faint touch, digging your fingernails into your palms so you wouldn't give in to the urge to touch him.

You had thought the last few days had been agony -- this was worse. You couldn't stand much more of this and not break.

"That's not going to be enough," you said. "I'm sorry. I hurt you once. It wasn't on purpose, and I'm more sorry than I can say. But now you're being cruel. You keep hurting me, only you do it with your eyes wide open."

You leaned back to look up into his beloved face. Shifting emotions chased each other like storm clouds in his eyes — resentment, hurt, pride. You were not the only one in pain.

You pushed yourself up on tiptoe and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth. When you pulled away he cupped the back of your head and chased your lips with a ragged groan.

You responded with a moan of your own, then pushed away from him before he could deepen the kiss. It was the hardest thing you'd ever done.

"I love you," you said quietly. "I feel like I'm dying without you. But I can't let you do this to me anymore."

His hand slipped heavily away from your neck. It brushed against your braid and he fingered the end of it absently as he looked away.

You had to force yourself to continue. "Either we're a couple and work through things together, or we're not." You took hold of his unresisting hand and pressed a kiss to his palm.

Thorin didn't answer. He was staring at your chest, and when you followed his gaze you saw that the piece of cloth wrapped around your braid had slipped, revealing the flashing fire of pure diamonds set in mithril.

"What is this?" he demanded hoarsely.

You closed your eyes, silently cursing Kíli. "Nothing you need to care about."

He tugged at the tie until it unraveled and he could see more of the hairpiece with its fine chains intricately woven through your hair, threaded with silver pearls.

"Careful!" you snapped and slapped his hand away before you could think better of it. Your hand closed protectively around the clasp.

"If I am not mistaken, that is my name on there," Thorin said. "And judging by your reaction, you know what that means."

"It has been explained to me. So you should be more careful handling it, unless you want to end up doing something you'd rather not."

Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh. "Oh, that is a foregone conclusion, now," he said tonelessly. "Who was it? I would recognize my sister's work anywhere...was it Fíli? Or Kíli?"

You twitched guiltily even though none of this was your fault.

"Kíli, then." Thorin said. "So this is the reason you two no longer speak. Why did you not come to me as soon as it happened?"

As relieved as you were that he wasn't blaming you, the question was ridiculous. "Really? Think long and hard, maybe it'll come to you. You already think the worst of me, let's add entrapment to the list!"

Thorin frowned. "I do not think the worst of you. And I would never assume you were capable of such idiocy."

You bristled. "Maybe I was desperate."

"You would never be desperate enough to take away my freedom in such a way," Thorin said absently.

A heavy silence fell.

 _This_ , you wanted to scream. _This is what I tried to tell you all along!_

Thorin stared at you, his features utterly opaque.

"In any event," he said, "This particular mess is clearly not your fault."

You shrugged. The silence lengthened again. Then: "Could you have done something? If I'd come right away?"

"Strangled Kíli, most likely."

"That doesn't sound very helpful," you pointed out gently.

"Maybe not. Though it would have been satisfying. So very satisfying."

"True." You hesitated. "Any ideas besides kinslaying?"

"No."

"You can come up with something, though, right?"

"I know the writings by heart. I had reason to refresh my memory recently…" He broke off. That must have been when he'd still planned on marrying you. After an uncomfortably long pause, he cleared his throat. "In an event, I'm afraid there is no alternative. I must bed you to remove it."

It hurt to hear him say it in that flat, emotionless tone. As much as you wanted him back, this was so wrong you couldn't stand it. "Gee, how can I resist when you put it that way? Let me take off my clothes right now. Maybe you can hold your nose while you do it. You shouldn't need more than a few minutes, right?"

Thorin had the grace to look chagrined. "I did not mean to imply it would be a hardship."

"Ah. You've changed your mind about us then?" you asked, knowing full well he hadn't.

His silence was answer enough.

Hell would freeze over before you'd sleep with him while he felt that way. You fought for some semblance of control. "As much as I appreciate your willingness to sacrifice yourself, there's no need to throw yourself on your sword just now. We're both bright, I'm sure we'll figure something out before I _really_ need to wash my hair."

You turned on your heel and left before sanity reasserted itself and you ended up apologizing — or worse, crying all over him. The thick doors swung shut behind you with a meaty thunk.

 

* * *

 

You found Balin sitting in an armchair in the common room, reading through some papers he'd brought with him. His glasses sat low on his nose, and you had to tap his shoulder twice before he turned to you with a startled squeak.

"Balin? Sorry to disturb you, but…" You turned your head to show him the hairpiece, and the intricate jewelry woven throughout. "I need a way around this."

The old dwarf peered at it through his glasses for a long minute, then heaved a sigh. "Kíli?"

You nodded.

"He had no right to burden you and Thorin with this," Balin said, uncharacteristically grim.

You found yourself defending Kíli, even though you wanted to strangle him. "He meant well."

"And if he does not grow up soon, that may end up being his epitaph," Balin said. "This is no mere prank. I do not doubt that you and Thorin would have found your way back to each other eventually, despite the current unpleasantness. Kíli's intrusion does nothing but complicate things."

Didn't you know it. "It gets worse. Thorin knows."

Balin took off his glasses. "Oh dear." He polished the lenses for a while, lost in thought. "I am frankly amazed that Kíli still lives," he said eventually.

"Well," you said, "the day's not over yet."

"Did Thorin assume you were complicit in this?"

"No."

Balin nodded. "He has some sense left then, at least."

"Can you help me? I don't care what it takes, but Thorin's not going to be trapped in a relationship he doesn't want because Kíli's an idiot. _I_ won't be trapped in a nightmare like that. I can cut my hair—"

"Let's not be hasty!" Balin said quickly. Cutting your hair would be a measure of last resort."

"But it would work?"

"Of course. If you cut it off just below your ears, you would take the whole piece off as it is, without removing it from your hair as such. It would be as if it was not removed at all."

Well, that was easy. You winced a little at the thought. You couldn't remember ever having had short hair, but in the end it was just hair. It would grow back, given a few years. "Then I'll do it."

Balin sighed. "It's not that simple, lassie. A queen's hair is a bit of a status symbol, and yours is particularly fine. No dwarrowdam would willingly cut her hair this short. Cutting one's hair or beard used to be either punishments for extraordinarily foul transgressions, or a sign of deepest bereavement."

That sounded awful, but it would still be better than Thorin forcing himself to marry you and sleep with you when he no longer wanted either of those things. Then a thought occurred to you. "Thorin cut his beard though, after Smaug. And he still keeps it short."

"That is a different matter. He lost family — his grandfather, father and brother, along with so many others. Everyone in Erebor knows that Thorin is your betrothed and and strongest supporter. Cutting off your hair while he still lives would be a grave insult to the crown."

"Can you think of any other way to get around this, then?"

"I'm afraid not."

"I could leave Erebor," you said. It was the last thing you wanted to do, given your responsibilities, but if it would stop this, you would.

Seeing the look of resolve on your face, Balin laid a hand on your arm. "I would urge you not to do anything hasty. As you are only considering this for Thorin's sake, he should have some say, hmm?"

"He would never agree. He's too noble for that."

"Hmm, very likely. My dear, your perseverance does you credit. But if you would listen to the words of an old dwarf, I would ask you to give it more time. You would be amazed at the difference a few more days sometimes make even in the most convoluted of conflicts."

You nodded miserably. You didn't know how you were going to survive several more days of this awful limbo, but Balin was right. Going off half-cocked now wouldn't do anybody any favors.

Balin's eyes twinkled at you as he started patting his pockets. "You should put some ointment on that hand," he said. "I'm sure I had a tin right here…"

After several more moments of noisy searching, he produced a small, richly decorated tin. "Here. I promise it works wonders. Tomorrow, those scrapes will be all but gone."

He watched as you applied a liberal amount of the salve to your split knuckles.

"Thank you, Balin," you murmured. "For everything."

"No need to thank me just yet," Balin said cryptically. "It will work itself out. You'll see."

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Cast** **off what has been realized  
Turn back to the subject**

                                    — Bassui

 

Thorin opened the door to the hall with care. He had gone for a walk, which had failed to clear his head. Now the moon was close to setting. Its cold light slanted through the high windows, skimming over a small, blanket wrapped shape.

Belatedly, he recalled that you'd chosen to make your bed away from the others, close enough to the dying fire to keep warm despite the night's chill. Shedding his cloak, he moved to the fireplace to add more logs, and worked patiently until the flames were licking brightly at the dried wood.

He should have left then, but he could not bring himself to do it. Instead, he found another blanket discarded over the arm of a chair, and laid it over you. It clearly wasn't enough — your hand, hanging limply off the side of the bench where you'd made your bed, was icy cold.

Thorin searched the storeroom until he found a whole heap of blankets. He took another three and spread them over you, tucking the ends beneath your feet.

You looked impossibly young with your hair braided back from your face. There were deep shadows beneath your eyes, only partly eclipsed by the sweep of your lashes. He'd been so sure of his decision, so determined to bear the weight of it even though he still wanted you with every fiber of his being. After the Arkenstone, he'd been suspicious of his own desires, wary of anything that made him put his wishes over the fate of his people, but perhaps it wasn't that clear-cut.

It took more and more effort to remind himself why he must not give in. Why he could not walk over to soothe you when you curled into a tight little ball during supper, as if protecting a mortal wound. Why he could not tease you until you blushed, or steal tea from your cup in the morning. Why he could no longer share his thoughts with you, and listen to yours in turn. Why he could not kiss you all over until your skin grew rosy with beard burn. Why he could not remove that damnable jewelry from your hair and simply do what he'd longed to do since he'd left for Mirkwood — reconcile in truth, self-respect be damned.

He forced himself to walk away. And yet he could not make himself leave entirely. Instead, he sat down into an armchair and stared into the fire, trying to calm his roiling thoughts.

Behind him, the floor boards creaked.

"Ah, Thorin! May I sit? At my age, that lovely armchair over there looks much better than the floor."

Thorin sighed. "Certainly, Balin."

He forced himself to be patient as Balin settled deeper into the seat and took out his glasses.

"I hope I did not wake you," Thorin said politely, even though he knew full well the upper floor had thick walls and even thicker floors.

"Not at all, not at all," said Balin genially. He pulled a sheaf of papers from underneath his dressing gown and stacked them in his lap. "I simply found myself awake and thought I'd do some work. I don't mind telling you, I'm glad we're spending a few days here. I much prefer a bed to the hard ground these days."

Thorin nodded politely. "As do we all."

"Well, your own vigor seems unbroken," Balin observed. "I remember well how taxing a worthy hunt can be. Though you are done with boar hunting for now, I suppose?"

"Hmm. Why do you say that?"

Balin chuckled. "Come, Thorin, that last monster will be hard to surpass, even for you. Best stop while you're ahead, I say."

Thorin sighed. "I plan to. I've lost my taste for the hunt."  
  


* * *

 

  
The low rumble of familiar voices woke you. You shifted on the bench and cracked an eye open, trying to make sense of your surroundings.

Adrenaline flooded you as you recognized Thorin's deep baritone. The initial jolt melted into a deep, conflicted yearning. You wondered whether his presence would ever stop affecting you like this. Then you wondered whether you'd ever get a good night's sleep again. Or any sleep at all.

 _Damn it, Thorin_.

Balin's voice cut through the silence, drawing your attention. "I have a confession to make," he said.

"Hmm?" Thorin rumbled. Through slitted eyes you saw that he was sitting in one of the armchairs around the fireplace. You got a glimpse of his profile before he leaned back, placing his hands on the armrests in a familiar pose.

"I could not help but overhear your recent conversation with my brother," Balin continued. Him you could see quite well, and his features were arranged into a genial expression that wouldn't have looked amiss on the face of Santa Claus. 'Just making idle conversation', his twinkling eyes seemed to say.

Yeah, right.

 _Come on_ , you thought. _Not again_. Why did everyone insist on accosting Thorin in hearing distance from you? It wasn't like you set out to listen in.

"Mahal save me from well-intentioned meddlers," Thorin muttered under his breath. "When have you added eavesdropping on your king to your duties?"

Balin smiled his affable, knife-edged smile. "Come now, Thorin. He who does not want to be overheard…"

"… should find a private place to conduct his business." Thorin sighed. "Yes, I know. Point taken."

T _hank you, Balin_. That didn't excuse you in the least, but at least you could share the blame if Thorin ever found out.

"All in all, I must say that I agree with Dwalin," Balin said. "He is not the most diplomatic of fellows, but his reasoning is sound."

Now, that was a surprise. Thorin seemed to think so too. His voice was cool when he replied. "You surprise me, Balin. Wasn't it you who urged me to marry a craftsman's daughter from a good house even though I'd made my choice quite clear?"

Huh. You hadn't known about that. Still, you couldn't summon even an ounce of outrage. Balin's duty was to the crown of Erebor and his king, not to you.

"You might have noticed that I stopped after your lady's first council meeting. She was magnificent."

"Yes," Thorin said quietly. "She was that."

The admiration in his voice tugged at your heart, but you didn't allow yourself to hope. Thorin's feelings rarely ruled his decisions.

Balin leaned back into his chair with a creak. "My wife… she lied to me regularly."

Whatever you had expected Balin to say next, this wasn't it.

"Balin, surely you do not need to divulge…" Thorin trailed off, embarrassed. That made two of you.

Balin ignored that. "It was an affliction, you see. She couldn't help it. I would be forever trying to discern what was truth and what was a fanciful tale." He chuckled. "She was excellent at it."

Well, that sounded like a nightmare of a marriage. You could vividly hear the cringe in Thorin's silence.

"As you might imagine, it made things a tad difficult in the beginning. To my surprise, however, I grew to adore it," Balin continued. "It kept me on my toes. Council meetings, foreign dignitaries… it was all child's game to me after a few years with her."

You shuddered. _Jesus_.

"But she loved me. She loved me so fiercely, sometimes I thought we'd go mad with it. The rows we had…"

"I always wondered how you could spot a lie so easily," Thorin murmured. He sounded wistful. "Frérin was so good at it, he'd fool even Mother. And yet you always knew. Often before he'd even opened his mouth."

Balin smiled. "Well, now you know."

"Why did you tell me this? Not that I do not appreciate the confidence. I do."

"Because love is rare, Thorin. And it is never perfect. Affection, camaraderie — those are more common, as you know. You've come to love late in life. You know the difference. One is pleasant. The other is a raging storm. And your lady has the makings of a queen. A magnificent one."

Thorin rubbed a hand across his face. "I know. And if this were about her alone, I would have been on my knees before her days ago. But Erebor must come first, always, and I betrayed that. I cannot become a puppet, Balin, not even for her."

It was torture, hearing him say that.

Balin smiled gently. "Thorin, there was no betrayal. Dwalin had it right — you found a way to honor both Erebor and her when you approached Thranduil about Tauriel's fate. When you apply yourself you are an excellent diplomat and you know it. You were always better at seeing shades of gray than the rest of your family, even though Mahal knows Thrór tried to stamp it out of you, and your father was always too cowed to interfere.

"Your grandfather placed the glory of Erebor above all else. Remember what it brought upon him and our people. Even had Smaug not come, he was alienating allies and trade partners alike, cutting us off when he should have reinforced those bonds. Do not model yourself after him. You are better than he was in every way."

Thorin shook his head. "I wish I could believe that. And yet self-indulgence has led me down a slippery road once already. In any event, it is a moot point. The choice is no longer mine."

"Ah," Balin said. "Kíli was ever the unpredictable one."

"You seem to have better eyes than I do." Thorin's voice was cool.

"Not at all. Your lady approached me. Apparently she is determined that you shall not be trapped into a marriage you do not desire."

"There is no other choice now," Thorin said.

"Ah, but there is. She offered to cut her hair."

Well then. Apparently you should have told Balin that your little talk was meant to be confidential.

Thorin spat out a vicious Khuzdul curse. "Unacceptable!"

"I have explained the ramifications," Balin went on blithely. "She does not seem to care. She offered to leave as well, so you won't be troubled by the gossips. You may wish to consider it, as you do not seem keen on the marriage. It would make an uncomplicated solution to all your troubles."

Thorin cursed again, low and hard. "I forbid it."

"Well, you can tell her in the morning," Balin said easily. "I am certain she'll be persuaded to have you once you explain that she will gain a royal puppet."

Okay, so that had been sarcasm after all. You started breathing again.

Thorin sighed. " _Balin_."

Balin put his papers away. Then he extracted a pipe from the depths of his pockets, lit it, and took a few puffs. "I confess that I am curious. Why are you so certain that any reconciliation would result in abject slavery for you?" He stopped to cough. "In any case, even that may not turn out too badly. In the fullness of time, she might make a better ruler than you do."

What an outrageous remark. You waited for Thorin's outburst, but to your surprise he gave a tired chuckle. "Well, she'd be welcome to the rulings, at least," he said. "The obsequious missives. The boot licking and arse kissing. The paperwork."

"That's nearly all of kingship right there. Ered Luin was easier, wasn't it?" Balin sighed. "I find myself missing it sometimes."

"Ered Luin was child's play compared to Erebor." Thorin leaned forward in his seat. "I know how to be a king of blacksmiths and coal miners. The merchants and the jewelers try my patience to its limits. Not to mention the goat disputes. Mahal, those goat disputes."

Balin grinned. "Just between you and me, I think your lady enjoys the goat disputes."

He wasn't wrong, you realized. After the quest and the gold sickness and the council meetings, you'd found them nearly restful.

Thorin's voice communicated a shudder of distaste. "Surely not."

"I am quite certain she does. Haven't you seen her smile? I think you could leave them to her quite safely," Balin said, "The merchants and jewelers too, I suppose. If not now, then quite soon. She has them well in hand."

"You must be mistaken." Incredulity was thick in Thorin's voice. You couldn't blame him. The merchants and jewelers were the bane of Thorin's existence, and by extension, yours. So many nuanced expectations, such convoluted alliances, grudges and minor enmities… It was hard to believe a foreigner like you had any chance of understanding that, let alone controlling it.

You had been motivated, though. After your disastrous parting, you had wanted to do something meaningful to show Thorin how much you loved him. So you'd forgone sleep, enlisted all of your friends as informants and couriers, and learned all there was to know about your targets. Your seamstress, now a dear friend, had been invaluable in supplying you with information that wasn't readily available in the political circles Balin frequented.

"I could barely believe it myself," Balin said. "I was certainly skeptical when she approached me for help with negotiations, but she persuaded them to sign the revised agreement just last week. It was painstaking work. She found just the right approach for each family — a coveted apprenticeship for the youngest daughter here, an advantageous marriage there… She brought me a chart and asked for my approval before she implemented it. Her penmanship needs work, but the contents…You should have seen it, Thorin. It was glorious." You blinked away the sudden tears.

"She even obtained a fair share for the miners. Not as high as it should be, but much better than it was."

There was a long silence. "I can well believe it," Thorin said eventually. "Though it is hard to credit that she did all that in little more than a month."

"She told me she had wronged you, though she wouldn't say how. It was her way to offer penance, I believe. At times, it was a bit of a trial, to be honest. She was as single-minded as a goat."

"I did not know," Thorin said. He sounded defeated. "She did not tell me."

"Would you have listened had she tried?"

"I suppose not." When he spoke again, his voice was slightly hoarse. "Did she sleep at all? Did she eat enough? When she gets engrossed in work she forgets…" He trailed off.

Fresh tears welled up. _Ah, Thorin._

"I believe she slept very little," Balin said. "As for food, your nephews made sure she was well fed. It did take some coaxing, if I recall correctly. Sometimes they had no recourse but to fetch Dwalin. But that is in the past now. She achieved a great deal. A few sleepless nights and missed meals are a small price to pay for such triumph."

"You wouldn't have said that if it were your Gerda missing sleep and meals," Thorin said hotly. Then he seemed to catch himself. "I apologize, Balin. That was uncalled for."

"No, no. It's fine. The way I poked at you tonight, I expected you to roar quite a bit more. But you see, I had a right to fuss over Gerda. I married her."

There was nothing Thorin could say to that, and he didn't try.

Balin leaned back in his armchair and began to fiddle with his pipe. _Manipulative old goat,_ you thought fondly.

 

* * *

 

For a long time, the snap and crackle of the hearth fire was the only sound in the room. You lay there, heart heavy with hope and fear and every feeling in between, when Balin's voice pierced the silence again.

"Well," he said amiably, "fret not. Should she refuse your offer of marriage, I suppose I could step in. I'm sure she'll have me if I braid my beard just so and trim the eyebrows a little. After all, such administrative talent cannot be lost to a failed love."

Thorin laughed. It was a loud, booming laugh you hadn't heard in ages, and despite the gravity of your situation, it warmed your heart.

You had to react somehow. You made sure to stir and sigh as if in sleep. Then you blinked, and lifted yourself woozily up to one elbow, cringing inside at the subterfuge.

"Thorin?" you murmured in a sleepy voice.

There was a creak as Thorin rose from his armchair. He walked over silently to crouch by your side. He brushed a few errant wisps of hair away from your face, cradled your cheek.

"It's nothing," he murmured. "Go back to sleep."

The feeling of his hand against your cheek sent a rush of warmth through you. For a few moments, you forgot all that lay between you and simply basked in his nearness. He did not seem to be in a hurry to get back to Balin and you couldn't muster the will to tell him to go away. Slowly, a leaden heaviness flooded your limbs. You were still so tired. How you had missed this easy togetherness, just enjoying each other's presence without demands or expectations. The tension in your limbs unraveled.

You let Thorin coax you back onto your folded cloak. Despite yourself, your eyes fluttered shut as his fingers trailed across your forehead in a soft caress.

And still he lingered, stroking your hair gently. A sweet torpor flooded your veins. Were you dreaming already? You were so very tired… If this was a dream, you didn't want to wake up.

Slowly, everything faded but the long, rhythmic caress of Thorin's fingers over your hair. Sleep rolled in, weighing down your limbs. You tried to hold on to the comfort of his touch but it faded away into the mist, and then there was nothing.

 

* * *

 

Thorin allowed himself a last, lingering caress before he rose back to his feet. The feel of you soft skin still tingled in his fingers. He rubbed them against each other as he resettled himself in the chair and met Balin's shrewd gaze head on.

"How long do you think you can keep yourself apart once you are married?"

Was his reticence based on anything more but pride at this point? He honestly could not tell. He felt like a fortress under siege, too stubborn to surrender, yet too depleted to mount a proper defense.

"Not long at all." He would have to somehow cut through the knot of poisonous misgivings that kept him tethered to a lost battle. "Thank you, old friend, for sharing your wisdom."

Balin inclined his head. "It is nothing more than my duty, my liege. Advisors must offer wise counsel at all times, even when it is not desired.” He grimaced. “Especially then."

Thorin felt his lips curl into an involuntary grin. "Whereas kings may be as unreasonable as they like?"

Balin's answering grin was small but heartfelt. "Your words, not mine." He hesitated. "Thorin… I do not doubt that she has the power turn you into a shadow of the king you can be. However, you must not forget that you hold the same power over her in turn. You can turn her into a puppet with no opinions of her own, one who speaks only your truth. Such is the power of the love you share."

The truth of Balin's words struck him with the force of a broadsword. "It had not crossed my mind—"

"That you could do the same to her? It should have. Already she is bending so hard she might break in order to accommodate you."

It was true, Thorin thought. Mahal help him, it was true.

"However," Balin continued, and Thorin forced himself to listen despite the turmoil clouding his mind, "those are only the darkest possible outcomes. I do not think either of you are venal or false enough to take that road."

"What do you suggest?"

A shake of that white head put him in his place. Of course Balin wouldn't presume to spoon-feed his king a decision said king should damn well be brave enough to form alone. His next words confirmed that.

"Far be it from me to suggest a course of action," Balin said cautiously. "That is your decision alone, as I'm sure you're aware. But let me say this in closing, as one to whom words are a weapon — I know firsthand the terrible harm the wrong words can cause. And still, when I flounder, I know to look behind them. Deeds will always be worth more than words, however hurtful those words may be. So ask yourself: what do her deeds tell you?"

Thorin's mind had rarely felt as muddled as it did now, and yet the answer to Balin's question was surprisingly clear. "She loves me more than she loves herself. I was too blinded by anger and fear to see it."

"Hurt, perhaps, more than anger," Balin suggested gently. "Your anger was never a cold flame, to burn over so many days without dwindling."

The hot weight of betrayal he'd first felt when he had heard the words that had started all this ignited in Thorin's chest again. It was tempting to insist that his heart was not as vulnerable as that. He resisted the impulse. He had never knowingly lied to himself. He did not intend to start now.

"Perhaps," he allowed.

"There is no shame in it, Thorin. Pain is only one side of the coin. The other side holds immeasurable joy."

Thorin rubbed a hand over his weary face. "I know, old friend. I thank you for reminding me." He frowned. "It occurs to me that I have just willingly let you steer me like a reluctant goat, and not for the first time. I suppose I have little reason to take umbrage at my lady's attempt to do the same, notwithstanding her unfortunate choice of words."

Balin chuckled. "I hardly had to do a thing," he said. "You steered yourself, and that's the truth." He leaned back, satisfied. "I wish you luck tomorrow. I fear you will have considerable trouble convincing her she is your choice rather than your duty."

Thorin nodded grimly. At least in this, his stubbornness would be an asset rather than a hindrance.


	10. Chapter 10

**Speak** **low if you speak love.**

   ― William Shakespeare

 

The next morning, loud voices outside woke you from a deep sleep. You were cozy and warm. As you sat up, bleary-eyed, you realized why: you'd slept under a veritable mound of blankets. You counted five, even though you knew full well you'd only gone to sleep with one.

As the last remnants of sleep faded, memories of last night assaulted you. You pushed them away as you got up to wash. You were sick of twisting yourself into knots. Fetching your washing bag, you marched out to the water pump behind the stables, muttering sleepy greetings to everyone you passed. The sight of Thorin bending half-naked over the pump, loose hair clinging to his wet back, brought you to a sudden stop.

"Good morning," you croaked.

He turned around, straightening. His eyes looked silver in the predawn light.

"Good morning," he said. His voice, still a little hoarse with sleep, made you weak at the knees. You were so not equipped for this right now.

"I—" You cleared your throat. "I can come back later if you need more time."

"No, I am finished." He slung the sodden towel around his neck. "I would speak with you before breakfast," he said, coming closer.

You could smell him — soap and clean, wet skin — and the ever-present ache you'd fought so hard to bury bloomed again in the pit of your belly. He'd always smelled just like this before he came to bed at night.

You pushed the memories away. "Sure," you said, and walked past him to the pump. "I only need a few minutes."

Thorin nodded and left.

You washed, thankful for the icy chill of the water, and went back inside to dress. The only clean set of clothes you had was wrinkled beyond repair but you put it on anyway. Your spare pair of leather pants felt slightly loose when you tugged it on — that is, your legs did not feel like sausages stuffed in a too-tight skin. You must have lost some weight. Still, it was better than your dusty, grimy road clothes.

When you walked out into the courtyard Thorin was already waiting. Despite yourself, your gaze clung to him. He looked magnificent in the royal blue and deep gray of his clean clothes. You made a beeline for him, ignoring the covert glances from the other members of the Company.

As avidly as you'd watched him from afar, as hard was it to meet his eyes up close. He waited patiently for you to muster up the courage. Only then did he speak.

"Will you walk with me?"

You swallowed around the sudden knot of apprehension in your throat, very much aware of the curious glances all around you, and nodded. As much as you loved your friends, this conversation required privacy.

The early morning air was fresh and chilly, heavy with moisture. You walked side by side without touching, out of the yard and into the forest. Dew glimmered on the grass and the pebble-strewn path beneath your feet. You kept your gaze down as you walked, making sure you didn't stumble. Your ankle was still a little tender from the mudslide incident.

You had been walking for quite a while when Thorin finally came to a halt beneath the boughs of an ancient pine tree. The path had long since faded, crisscrossed by thick roots and covered in thick patches of moss.

And yet now that you had all the privacy you could ever need, Thorin seemed strangely reluctant to speak.

"You wanted to talk to me?" you prompted gently.

"I do."

You clasped your hands together to stop their shaking. "I'm listening."

"You will not cut your hair," he said tightly.

Of all the conversation openers he could have picked, it was that one? The ache faded slightly as you bristled. You tamped down on the urge to snap back at him.

"You're usually more diplomatic than this," you murmured.

"I'd rather be honest in this matter," he snapped. You will not cut your hair and you will not leave, for Mirkwood and anywhere else."

"A royal decree," you murmured. "Haven't heard one of those in a while." You took a deep breath. "It's my hair, Thorin. If I need to cut it to get us both out of this ridiculous situation, I will. If I need to leave for you to save face, I'll do that too."

"There is no need," he declared. "I will marry you."

You stared at him. He held himself stiffly, the way he had when he was wounded.

"I thought you didn't want to be a puppet," you said, unable to keep the hurt out of your voice.

"Ah," he said, softening a little. "So Balin and I did wake you last night."

_Busted_. "You did." You lifted your chin, resigning yourself to a lecture.

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "Judging by your expression, you were not awake long enough to hear the end of the conversation."

You ignored that maddening hint, since clearly he was not going to let you in on the secret, and decided to be the bigger person. "I didn't set out to eavesdrop, but I should have said something anyway."

"I imagine it would have been hard to get a word in edgewise," Thorin said mildly.

"Still. I apologize."

"There is no need."

"If you say so." You took a deep breath. "About this marriage thing…"

"I have already decided to marry you," Thorin said in an even tone more suited to discussing the weather than your entire future.

Dismay lodged in your throat, strangling your words. "Don't I get a say?"

Thorin had the gall to look surprised. "Do you not wish to marry me?"

Sometimes he could be so effortlessly cruel. You wrapped your arms around your middle, where love sat like a heavy stone. "I don't want to be married out of obligation."

He closed the distance between you, head dipping down to search your eyes. "My offer does not stem from obligation."

You looked away. "What else is there?"

He stepped closer still.

"You."

Your eyes flew back to his.

"You are loyal and kind, and too loving for your own good." Thorin went on. "I had forgotten. Balin reminded me."

"You want to marry me because I am _kind_?"

"Does that surprise you? I do not take kindness lightly. My people have encountered precious little of it over the years. And all of a sudden there you were, overflowing with it even though I treated you harshly in the beginning. You were lost in a strange world, scared for your life more often than not, and still you took the time to notice that Ori was nearly as scared as you were, that Bombur missed his family, that Kili was wound as tightly as his bow. I was their leader. I should have seen it first, but I only saw soldiers, and poor ones at that."

"Everyone else would have done the same. Bilbo did. We were all in the same boat."

Thorin shook his head. "No. You and Bilbo were unusual in so many ways that it defies description. Both of you were woefully unprepared for the hardships of our quest, yet neither of you were ever selfish."

How to even start to unpack all that? You'd had no idea he thought that way about you. "Thorin, I'm not this paragon of selflessness you seem to think I am. I don't know her, and I'm pretty sure I'd want to smack her if I ever met her. She's insufferable. It was in my best interest to help out as much as I could. It wasn't like I had any other options."

"You could have remained in Rivendell."

"And if I had been as selfless as you make me out to be, I would have. I was dead weight."

"You were not."

"I was infatuated and stupid."

"You were sweet and maddening and I could not stop thinking about you."

Your heart skipped. "You never said."

"I had no promises to give, not then. After we took back Erebor, I planned to seek you out right away."

It was ancient history now, but it still hurt to hear it. "Why didn't you?"

Thorin shook his head with a bitter half-smile. "I did not trust the impulse. The very strength of my feelings was cause for caution. I was taught from a very young age not to trust my own desires. They can be twisted, by advisors and enemies alike. I was not groomed as king from the beginning, but as a prince I was always aware that many would seek to use me for their own ends, and it would always be hard to tell friendship from manipulation. It proved true more times than I can count."

Despite yourself, your heart went out to him. You were growing inured to Dwarven politics now, but you had friends you could trust. How awful it must have been for a child to look at his friends and see only the potential for betrayal.

"I'm so sorry."

Thorin waved that off. "You should not feel sorry for me. I left you to fend for yourself among strangers while I struggled. I always found it odd that you would forgive me for that so readily. While you fought to make a living, I spent my nights crafting a betrothal necklace in the hope that my desire for you would lessen in the time it took to complete the work. Instead, it only grew stronger. I tried to find fault with you. I could not."

"That's hard to believe," you murmured. You weren't a selfless martyr, and whatever he thought, it wasn't his fault that you'd had a rough start in Erebor. But if he'd placed you on such a high pedestal, the fall had been inevitable from the start.

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "You think yourself flawed?"

"I _know_ I am. The real me, I mean, not this fantasy construct that clearly only exists in your own mind."

Thorin took your hand in his. His thumb moved lightly over your knuckles in a slow caress. "Ah. This 'real you', is she perhaps a bit impatient?"

You blinked slowly at your joined hands. "Maybe."

"Possessed by an inability to rise at a decent hour of the morning? Excessively grouchy when forced to do so?" His lips quirked in the barest hint of a wistful smile. "I do recall someone throwing a boot at me one morning."

He was both breaking your heart and knitting it back together with every word. "Maybe that was because you kept prodding her with your _foot_."

He nodded. "Mhm. I shall add bad-tempered _and_ violent to the list then. And she is an enthusiastic crier as well, if I recall correctly."

"I wouldn't call it enthusiastic," you muttered, though there was no arguing with the truth. You were a superlative crier. It was nearly a superpower — the most useless one in existence. The impulse seemed to ambush you at the most inopportune moments. You cried over presents and dead animals. You'd cried over a dead raven two months ago while Thorin's advisors watched you in bemusement. You had redeemed yourself in the next council meeting, but the memory still made you cringe.

"As you see, I am as well acquainted with the real you as can be expected," Thorin said, after he'd allowed you to digest his words for a while.

"Yes, you've clearly paid attention." At this point you were such a bundle of nerves that crying was inevitable. You wanted to believe that all was forgotten, but what about next time? You clenched your fists, frowning when you realized he still held your hand. You felt so wrecked with tension that you could barely stand.

"I always paid attention to you," Thorin said, seemingly oblivious to your turmoil. "And I could not see a single flaw. Before I knew how you felt and tasted, or how perfectly you would fit into my life, the things you perceive as flaws endeared you to me until I could scarcely think of anything else. When I finally sought you out in Erebor and found you living as you had… I was furious at myself for waiting. Once we'd spoken, and I saw the first hint of how extraordinary you truly are, I was lost. For the first time in my adult life, I had to force myself to attend to my duties when I wanted nothing more but to be in your company." He pressed a kiss to your fingers. It was an impulsive gesture; he seemed barely aware of it. "That was unprecedented. Denial comes easily to me. Joy does not. And you were pure joy, dearling, a surfeit of it. I could no more have renounced it than I could have stopped breathing. You must understand — when you threatened to leave if I did not do as you wanted, all I could hear were my advisors laughing at me."

Oh god. You knew it had been wrong to say what you did, but you hadn't understood how deep the damage went. It broke your heart. All anger leached out, leaving behind a vast numbness. "Then how can you offer marriage as if nothing happened?" you asked quietly. "For this whole miserable trip you were barely able to look at me, let alone talk to me. You felt you had to hunt mutant boars just so you wouldn't have to see me. And now I understand why. But Thorin… that doesn't just go away overnight. Or ever."

He cupped your cheek, undaunted. "Are you attempting to dissuade me from pledging myself to you?"

You leaned into him. "I don't know. I still have no idea how to survive without you," you whispered. "I missed you so much. I slept on your pillow. I tried so hard to behave like a proper queen during the day. I wanted to make you proud. I had planned this elaborate apology for when you came back… And then none of it mattered."

You stared blindly at the opening of his tunic. The collar was slightly askew so you straightened it, then brushed your hand over the fabric, smoothing the wrinkles away.

"Maybe you think you want me back now, but what if you find out later that you don't? I can't do that again, Thorin." And yet you couldn't stop touching him. "I thought I wanted nothing more than to get you back, but... I just can't go through this again."

You had been trying so hard not to cry, but despite all your efforts a fat tear gathered in your lashes, hovered there trembling for a moment, then rolled down your cheek. You huffed a frustrated noise and rubbed furiously at your eyes with your free hand.

Thorin cupped your cheek, coaxing your chin up. "I adore you," he said earnestly. "Even at my most angry, that never changed. What changed is this: I trust you now. I trust you not to wound me again if you can help it. I trust you to learn from your mistakes, as I hope I've finally learned from mine. So you see, I am yours even if you should no longer wish to be mine. Even if you refuse to marry me, you are my queen." He kissed your wet eyelids, the tip of your nose.

There was no mistaking the sincerity in his voice — he'd had a change of heart, and it went deep. If you let your fear hold you back now, you'd regret it forever.

Tentatively, you slid your arms around his waist.

"Okay," you said. "You win."

He pressed his lips to your forehead. "Do I?"

You burrowed into his chest and nodded. Your heart was still heavy, but that would pass.

"You consent to marry me?"

You took a deep breath. You'd nearly given up hope; it was hard to say the words. "Yes," you whispered into his neck. "Yes. I'll marry you."

"Thank Mahal," Thorin muttered, seizing you close. Then he hoisted you up into his arms, squeezing you close.

The flood of tears came out of nowhere. Here you were, thinking you'd finally gotten yourself under control when the feelings rolled over you like a tsunami, constricting not only your throat, but rocking your whole body with uncontrollable convulsions.

You couldn't stop sobbing. You tried, but the months of tension insisted on the release anyway. Through it all Thorin rocked you gently, never losing patience.

Eventually you sobs dwindled. He set you on you feet, only to run his hands slowly down your spine, molding you closer to his body. Then he used the edge of his hand to gently tilt up your chin.

Your breaths mingled. Ever so slowly, your breath evened out. Your eyes fluttered open.

Thorin bent his head.

His mouth brushed yours, achingly slow. He hovered there for a moment, then caught the swell of your bottom lip between his teeth, flicked his tongue just underneath the delicate curve.

You whimpered, a broken sound of longing and need, and dug your fingers into his shoulders.

It was as if a dam had burst. Thorin's arm tightened around your waist. His mouth closed harshly over yours in a deep, savage kiss.

You kissed him back just as desperately, welcoming the roughness.

"This is too soon," he groaned, then kissed you again, even more hungrily than before. "You are still hurting. Tell me to stop."

You shook your head. As lovely as his words had been, his kisses and feeling his body so close to yours helped to anchor you so much tighter to this new reality. Thorin was yours again, and he was here to stay.

_He's here. He's staying. He's here._

Thorin took your face between his hands as he tore his mouth away from yours to trail kisses up your jawline and down your neck. Deft fingers unbuttoned the top buttons of your tunic, then dragged it down to expose your shoulder, the movement rough with need. He nipped once, sharply, at the spot between your neck and shoulder, then kissed a slow path back up to your mouth for a deep, hard kiss.

When he pulled back you blinked dizzily up at him through wet lashes.

"You always stopped crying when I kissed you," he murmured.

A swell of affection ambushed you, so overwhelming that you had to look away from him for a moment.

He was gentle as he coaxed your gaze back to his. Your eyes welled up again as you saw the answering tenderness in his eyes.

"Ah, love," he murmured. "Are you asking for more kisses?"

A giggle escaped you through the tears. You were still taut as a bowstring, still shivering with the tension of the last few hours, barely able to believe you weren't dreaming.

Thorin bent his head to yours again, licking salty wetness from the seam of your lips with patient flicks of his tongue. Slowly, the tense line of your mouth relaxed, becoming soft and pliant once more. He traced the bow of your upper lip with his thumb, lingered over the shadowed little dip just above it. Your lips parted. He sealed his mouth over yours, tasting sweetness and salt.

The ticklish spot just below your right ear was next. When you squeaked and twitched away he seduced you close again, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His beard rasped against your throat, harsh against the delicate skin. He nuzzled closer, abrading the winged sweep of your collarbone until the skin turned rosy. He breathed you in and did it again — knowing you loved that roughness, loved the slight marks it left after a night of pleasure. And sure enough, you let your head fall back, eyes drifting shut.

He caught you, cradling the back of your head with gentle fingers. Your braid slipped from your shoulder and he picked it up, fingered the fine chains woven between the strands, the glittering clasp securing the end.

"Marry me right now," he whispered into your ear.

You turned into him. "What?" It was a confused whine.

"Do you wish to wait?"

"No!" you blurted out before you could think better of it. "But... How?"

He threaded his fingers through yours. "Our custom requires little more than a gift such as the clasp that you carry in your hair, and both parties exchanging vows in whatever manner they see fit."

You nuzzled his cheek as you searched desperately for something to say. It was so hard to think. "I thought the wedding ceremony is a lot more complicated," you stammered.

"The ceremony, not the wedding. And the ceremony is merely a display meant to satisfy others. If you remember, I was king long before I was crowned such."

"Thorin, do you really want to? Now, I mean?"

"There is nothing I want more," he said simply.

"But why? We could wait until we're home..."

You half expected Thorin to get angry at being questioned this way when he'd just proposed. Instead his eyes crinkled with a soft smile.

"Well," he said dryly, "as you said, you will have to wash your hair eventually."

A wet giggle escaped you.

Thorin kissed your wrist, then the tips of your fingers, one by one. "I have chosen you, once and for all. I do not wish to waste another minute, another second, farther from you than I need to be."

He was going to give you a heart attack any minute now. "You mean that?"

"I do." He leaned in, blue eyes darkening. "Say yes, sweetling. Be my wife."

How could you resist that? You only had to say a single word and Thorin would be your husband. You loved him so much. And yet, when you opened your mouth to give him the answer that filled your heart to bursting, something entirely different came out of your mouth instead:

"God, I hate giving Kíli the satisfaction."

You clapped a hand over your mouth right away, but it was too late. The words had already fled and were now hanging in the air between you.

Thorin's features went briefly blank before settling into a very royal look of haughty incredulity. And then he burst out laughing.

Your relief was so strong, it nearly cut you off at the knees. You started to grow worried as, minutes later, Thorin was still laughing so hard you thought he'd do himself an injury. Whenever you'd think he was done he only had to look at your questioning, worried expression and it would set him off again.

To your relief, he did eventually stop. The laughter petered out into quiet chuckles and then ceased altogether.

His eyes were still twinkling when he brought his hand to your cheek. "Is it any wonder I love you so," he murmured.

"I'll marry you. Right now." You looked up at him, wild-eyed. "I love you so much. Yes. It's a yes." Your mind, your whole body, was screaming it.

"Yes," Thorin repeated, the laughter gone from his eyes.

And so, from one moment to the next, you were married.

 

* * *

 

 

You stared at each other. A gust of wind blew against your exposed neck, sending a shiver through you. Goosebumps broke out on your arms.

A lone thrush trilled a complaint in a nearby tree.

Thorin's warm hand cupped the back of your neck. His lips parted.

Your head fell back as you leaned into him, heart hammering in your chest.

Your lips met. Tongues tangled, first lightly then deeper and more hungrily, and then deeper still. You filled your lungs with his scent, drank him in, and it was at once familiar and comforting, new and dangerous.

Thorin lifted his head away. He searched your face hungrily, wonderingly, as if you were a strange and glittering treasure. Your eyes met, held. For a single, endless instant you saw the haughty stranger who'd caught you as you fell from the sky; the impatient king who used to wake you by prodding you with his boot and the imperious lover who'd ordered you to undress and had then worshipped you on his knees until you unraveled, all superimposed in a flickering freeze-frame.

And then the world shifted and they were one and the same — all Thorin. Still a king, still imperious and demanding… still irresistible. He looked like something out of a wild, secret dream with dew glistening in his hair and desire staining his high cheekbones.

_Mine_ , you thought as he lifted you off your feet, crushing you close, and his mouth found yours again.

_Mine_ , you thought again as you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, desperate to stretch the moment as far as it could go.

_Mine. My husband._

Thorin laid a path of fervent kisses down your neck.

"We shall never let anything come between us again," he vowed hoarsely. "I swear it."

You turned into him, catching his mouth again in a brief, hard kiss. "We're still going to argue," you breathed.

"Only to the bedroom door."

"Yes," you agreed with a sigh.

Thorin set you on your feet, eyes never leaving yours. Suddenly cold, you wrapped your arms around yourself as he slid out of his coat and spread it out in a mossy hollow between curling roots.

After sliding your own coat down your arms, he picked you up and lowered you onto the forest floor. Then he leaned over you, caught your chin. His thumb brushed slowly over your lower lip.

"Past the door," he said, leaning closer still, "there is only this."

You barely found the breath to answer. "Yes."

"We are agreed then." His eyes turned tender. "Your majesty."

You swallowed hard. "Your majesty."

Very deliberately, Thorin picked up your braid. His eyes held a definite smolder as he took hold of the clasp, pressed and twisted. The closure sprang open.

You linked your arms around his neck and tugged him down to you. "Thorin."

He groaned as your breasts flattened against his chest. You were now both wearing only a thin tunic, and the contact shook you both.

You blushed. "I'm too easy, aren't I?"

Thorin nipped your earlobe. "Never."

You rubbed your cheek against his. "Too eager?"

"You're perfect," he growled, and slid the clasp from your hair.

"Thorin," you sighed.

He unraveled the braid, teasing out the rest of the hairpiece until he could slip it into his pocket. Then he combed his fingers through the strands in patient sweeps. Your hair spilled out around you in loose, soft waves.

You felt like you were in a dream. You were still so excited you fairly quivered with it, but also half afraid that you were asleep and would wake up any minute now, bereft and miserable.

"We're married," you whispered.

"So we are," Thorin agreed. He pushed up the hem of your tunic, exposing your waist. Idly, he trailed his knuckles over the quivering muscles of your belly, devouring you with his eyes. The cool air raised goosebumps over your exposed skin and you shivered — whether from nerves, arousal or cold, you couldn't say.

"We're married," you repeated, trying to convince yourself you weren't dreaming.

Thorin's big body settled over yours. Your legs fell open, welcoming the weight of his hips. He slid a brawny arm underneath your neck, making sure your head rested comfortably in the crook of his elbow. Then he rolled onto his side, taking your with him, and slipped the other arm around your waist, cradling you closer.

You'd never felt more cherished, or more protected. And yet when his hand brushed too close to your breast, you suddenly found yourself tensing up. An odd mixture of shame and guilt flooded you out of nowhere.

Everything was fine now. Why were you reacting this way?

"Amrâlimê," Thorin said into your ear. "You're trembling. Are you cold?"

Were you trembling? You hadn't noticed. "I… I don't think so."

You tugged the tunic back down over your belly, relieved when Thorin's hands slipped away from the bare skin of you waist.

To you surprise he said nothing, only helped you smooth down the fabric and kissed your hand.

You had a hard time understanding your own reaction. Thorin's kisses were heat and comfort and abandon. You could still lose yourself in them. Everything else was shrouded by a thicket of shame and guilt. You had hurt him badly, and he had rejected you so thoroughly in return that the old, easy intimacy felt unattainable even though you'd just committed to each other in the most permanent of ways.

You met his eyes, helpless. "I'm so sorry."

"Ah, dearling," Thorin said. "Come here." And then he proceeded to scatter small, idle kisses all over your face — some brief, some lingering.

It took a long time, but eventually you found yourself relaxing under Thorin's patient caresses. Occasionally, he would adjust his hold, making sure you were still perfectly comfortable. The tangled knot of shame, fear, and guilty arousal loosened gradually as the tension of the last few weeks finally began to leach out of your limbs, leaving you boneless and drowsy.

Thorin's kisses grew softer, longer.

"What are you doing?" you murmured sleepily.

"Holding you."

A thread of worry slipped past the pervading sleepiness to tug at you. "But the clasp... bad luck..."

Thorin sighed against your cheek. "I wish people would take the trouble to read the archives before spreading inaccurate gossip."

You forced your eyes properly open. "What do you mean?"

"After removing the hairpiece, the royal couple must consummate the union within a fortnight. You may assume we are fairly safe, unless you suddenly find me distasteful." He nuzzled his nose against yours. "Kiss me."

You did, melting against him. "But Fíli..."

"... is a kind lad," he murmured against your lips. "Not a great reader."

"Oh."

"Still, he is an excellent blacksmith. Decent engineer. Stellar aim with a dagger—"

You hit his shoulder weakly. "Stop it." Even though you tried to stay awake, your eyes hadn't gotten the memo. They kept sliding shut.

Thorin returned to teasing your lips in a soft catch-and-release. It was so lovely, and he tasted so good… You had to turn your head away as a jaw-splitting yawn ambushed you out of nowhere.

Once you were done trying to unhinge your jaw, you found Thorin watching you with a soft smile.

"I really am sorry. I love you, and this, now, is beyond lovely, it's just..." you broke off on another yawn.

"Stop fretting, love. You are exhausted and I was too hasty." He placed a small kiss at the corner of your mouth. "Sleep now."

"But we just got married…" Your slurred protest was half-hearted at best.

"And there will be ample time for celebration later." He gathered you closer still, brushed his lips over your forehead. "Sleep, my love. I shall be here when you wake."

"Love you so much," you muttered, and slept.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexytimes ahead. Proceed with caution.

**For in the dew of little things  
** **the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.**

      — Khalil Gibran

 

You woke slowly, floating on a sea of deep contentment.

The air smelled of pine and green things growing, threaded through with Thorin's subtler scent. Something hard rose and sank beneath your cheek in a measured rhythm.

You yawned and opened your eyes.

Thorin was reclining against a thick tangle of roots and you were curled on top of him, head pillowed on his chest, his left hand holding yours as if for a slow dance.

"How long did I sleep?"

"A while." Thorin's voice was slightly hoarse as he brushed your hair away from your face.

You nodded and cuddled closer.

His slow, even breath stirred your hair. The hand holding yours was large and rough with familiar calluses. 

The morning mists had evaporated. Sunlight filtered through the tree crowns, dappling the ground and creating small patches of warmth on your skin. The world felt clean and new, ripe with possibility.

You sighed and turned your head to look at Thorin. His eyes were nearly glowing, crinkling at the corners as he returned your gaze. It must have been the light, but for a moment he looked different, the aching familiarity of his features receding as a long-dormant sense of wonder took hold of you.

The sheer force of his presence even in repose took your breath away. You could barely believe he was now all yours — as much as one person could belong to another, anyway. Shifting, you lifted your chin and just looked at him: the sun-darkened skin, the regal features, softened only slightly by a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose; the glacier-blue of his eyes.

His mouth was both hard and sensual. The dichotomy never failed to seduce you, and your breathing quickened the longer you stared at it. Then his throat shifted as he swallowed. Your gaze was drawn inexorably to the muscles there and the anchoring dip of his collarbone, thrown into sharp relief by the slanting light. 

The first cautious stirrings of desire threaded through the contentment. Earlier, you'd been too battered by the emotional whiplash. Now, however... It was amazing what a solid nap could do for one's mood.

You slid your hand from Thorin's to trail an idle pattern up his side. You caressed his arm through the thin fabric of his shirt, marveling at the sheer size of his bulging biceps, the muscle definition in his forearms, noticeable even through the fabric.

Thorin's eyes narrowed like a contented cat's as you explored him. His arms came around you in a loose embrace.

"Feeling better?" he rumbled.

You nodded. You did feel better. An odd ache still lingered at the center of your chest, and you felt starved for comfort more than sex, but all in all, you felt lovely. Light. Cautiously happy.

"I'm good," you said. "Better."

Thorin smiled.

Crawling on top of him, you propped your chin on your folded arms to better see that smile. It melted away before you could look your fill, leaving a smoldering intensity behind. 

Your breath stuttered at the sight. Thorin sprawled with loose-limbed grace in the cradle of gnarled roots, looking like some mythical king of the forest — and oh, wouldn't he love that comparison — too mesmerizing to be quite real. His hair spread out around his face in a dark starburst, curling across the carpet of verdant moss as if it belonged there. When he looked up at you through his lashes, the sky and the breeze-tossed tree crowns reflected brilliantly in his eyes.

"I forgot how intoxicating it is to have you look at me this way," he said roughly. 

"It's your own fault for being so… So…" Giving up, you waved a hand to indicate that the extent of his wonderfulness exceeded your vocabulary. 

"Then I am gladly at fault," he said. His voice had gone deep in that 'come hither' way that always sent shivers down your spine — now more than ever, because you'd thought you would never hear it again, at least not directed at you.

You felt a small pang at the thought, but it was soon banished by the soft look in his eyes. It would take a while to adjust, but that bittersweet knowledge made the moment all the more precious.

"Are you going to make amends, then?" you asked. You caught hold of his shirt as soft laughter reverberated through his chest, jolting you from your perch. 

Belatedly, Thorin steadied you with a hand on your hip.

"I am," he promised, desire and lingering amusement mingling in his eyes. "Is there anything in particular you desire?"

"A kiss would be nice," you said. You could never go wrong with a kiss. 

Thorin pushed himself up on one elbow. His other hand slid into your hair, gently tilting your head. The kiss started soft, only to ignite mere seconds later. Thorin sat up, lifting you into his lap. 

Your hands slid beneath the hem of his shirt to splay over his broad back. You encountered smooth skin so hot it nearly seared your fingers and the thin, raised pattern of scars from his many battles. 

One kiss became two, then melted together into dozens. You traded them eagerly, pausing only to draw breath. Thorin's hands roamed your skin underneath the tunic, molding you closer to his hardening body. 

Time lost all meaning. 

You barely noticed the sunlight fading as gray clouds moved in, or the sudden, oppressive humidity in the air.

And then a silent flash of lightning rent the sky, so bright it seared your vision even through closed eyelids.

Your eyes flew open as Thorin lifted his head.

Thunder boomed, making you jump. The sound faded into a lingering, rolling growl.

Thorin sat up abruptly, dislodging you. He steadied you with an absent apology as he looked up at the sky with narrowed eyes.

Then he sniffed. You did too. Only then did you notice the hint of ozone in the air.

"Rain? But was so sunny just now..."

"A storm, more likely. The weather changes quickly here." 

Thorin got to his feet and gave you a hand up. "Put your coat on," he said, shrugging impatiently into his. It had bits of moss all over and after you'd put on your own coat you brushed some of it off with your hands.

He grabbed your wrist, kissed the inside. "No time," he said. "We must hurry."

Still holding your hand, he started off deeper into the woods. Strange how his sense of direction seemed to come and go. 

"Thorin?" You stumbled over a root. "The outpost is the other way..."

"Too far," he said. "There's a hunting cabin close by. If we hurry we might make it before the storm arrives."

You must have looked slightly unconvinced because he grinned. "Don't worry," he said. "I know this mountain like the back of my hand."

Two minutes later, it started to rain.

It began as a gentle pitter-patter upon the boughs overhead. After that innocent warm-up, lightning rent the sky again in a blinding cascade, and all hell broke loose. You squeaked as what felt like a solid wall of water dropped on your head, instantly soaking you to the skin. 

Thorin grabbed your hand tighter and pulled you on. You were too busy trying not to drown in rain to ask yourself how he was going to find anything when you could barely see your own hand in front of your face.

 

* * *

 

You shrieked as a dark, ghostly shape suddenly loomed before you in the rain. 

"It's only the cabin!" Thorin bellowed, pulling you forward and around the side. Now that you were close enough you could just make out glass-paned windows and a sturdy door underneath the slight roof overhang.

A minute later you were stumbling through the door after Thorin, soaked to the skin and blinded by the unforgiving deluge. You paused in the entryway to shove your sodden hair our of your face so you could orient yourself. In your haste you didn't shut the door properly. It flew back open in a gust of wind, nearly catching you in the back. Thorin, proving again that he must have eyes at the back of his head, spun you out of the way and kicked the door shut.

The noise of the storm shut off as if a switch had been turned. 

_Dwarven engineering, ladies and gentlemen._

In the ensuing silence you both stood there, breathing hard, dripping all over the floor. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a large fireplace and a bed sitting flush against the far wall, laden with furs and pillows.

You shivered.

"I should start a fire," Thorin said. A drop of water slid down his patrician nose and dripped into his beard.

Neither of you moved. 

Your blood pumped hard and fast through your veins. It sounded like a waterfall in your ears. Thorin's pupils expanded, swallowing the iris. His lips parted, slick with rain. 

You both took a hungry step forward at the same time, clashing in a flurry of limbs. Suddenly, you couldn't get your coat off fast enough. Thorin had already shed his with a violent shrug and now he pulled yours down your arms with short, efficient tugs.

The moment your arms were free you tugged on his tunic. "Off," you ordered.

Thorin needed no other encouragement. He yanked the tunic over his head. Fumbling at his belt with shaking fingers, you tried not to get distracted by the wet, muscled wall of his chest, so close to your tingling lips. You'd barely gotten it undone when Thorin knelt down to pull off your boots. You had to brace yourself on his shoulder as he tugged them off. Your wet leather pants were next — an impossible task, and yet he managed to get them down your thighs with a minimum of discomfort. He jerked once, twice, and they were down the rest of the way. You shook them off. They hit the floor with a wet slap. 

While Thorin made quick work of his own trousers, you dragged the sodden tunic over your head. 

His head came up. Instinctively, you looked down to see your breasts rising like two gleaming half-moons from the cups of your bra.

 Thorin pulled you forward with a strangled groan. You slammed into his chest. His mouth skimmed your ear. Teeth grazed sharply at the line of your neck  as he flicked open the closure of your bra.

You felt the sudden weight of your unsupported breasts, the sting in your shoulders where the straps had dug too firmly, and then Thorin's thumbs were tracing the indentations on your skin, rubbing away the soreness.

A small whine escaped you as his hands moved further down, only lightly skimming the sides of your aching breasts. The light touch turned firm without warning as he grabbed your hips and lifted you into the air like you weighed nothing. He held you suspended as his lips closed around one breast, drawing hard and sharp; his mouth was scorching hot against your chilled skin and you buried your hands in his hair with a soft cry, pulling him closer. 

Thorin growled. With one final suck at the pebbled tip he released your breast and lifted you up further, nipping a fevered path down the center of your belly.

You shrieked when his mouth closed over the swell of your mound without warning. He pushed the flat of his tongue between your swollen folds. One firm, imperious lick and you were sobbing, clutching his hair so hard it had to hurt.

 Thorin briefly turned his head to nip at the inside of your thigh, then returned to devouring you. There was no other word for that determined assault on your senses. In moments, your sex had turned slick and yielding, and so sharply empty that you whimpered. Your feet found purchase against his abdomen, toes curling into the hard muscle there. It was Thorin's turn to groan. He tilted his head for a last, powerful swipe that caught you right across your clit, and then he lowered you so swiftly it felt like falling. 

"Arms around my neck," he ordered.

You did as he asked, still dazed by the sight of his wet mouth and glittering eyes. And then his cock, hard and impossibly thick, nudged you delicately just where you needed it most, and you couldn't think at all.

Your legs spread on their own, scissoring around his waist. Your heels caught on the dimpled muscle at the base of his spine and dug in as the wide head slid past your entrance, sure of its welcome. 

A shiver ran down your spine and then another. You felt the sweet pain of the stretch, heard Thorin's husky voice in your ear, mingling sweet confessions and dirty words of praise, and then he was all the way in. 

There was no time to adjust. He started moving, dragging on your delicate tissues on the way out, then rocking back in far more smoothly as the motion spread your juices around, easing the way. You muffled a squeal against the base of his neck. Already you were desperately slick and getting more so with every measured dig of Thorin's hips, every word he spoke in that deep, guttural tone.

There was no finesse, nothing but that deep, even rocking. Nothing more was needed. It was nearly too much already as it was: the harsh desire in his hooded eyes, his easy strength... The hot skin beneath your fingers, slick with rainwater. The male scent of him, rising from his skin like steam from a furnace.

Your belly tightened. Your legs clenched around his hips in a desperate attempt to ease the unbearable tension, but Thorin wouldn't allow you any respite. He kept moving, leaving you too full one moment and too empty the next, and just like that, between one moment and the next, you tipped over into climax.

It rolled over you like an earthquake, from the soles of your feet up. Thorin held you steady as you quivered, never stopping until you slumped in his arms, spent.

He allowed you a moment of rest. And then he started moving again: slow, rocking, a soft tease against your sensitive core, and suddenly it was as if you'd never come at all. You clung to his neck so hard you feared you might be cutting off his air, but he did not look winded, just determined. A molten heat spread through your belly as you found yourself tightening around him again. The first climax had been strong and searing; the second was a rich, ample unraveling deep in your gut that spread through your limbs like molasses. It left you a limp mess and Thorin just held you for a while, cheek pressed against your messy hair.

To your own amazement, when you found yourself stirring, a fresh hunger stirred as well. He still hadn't come and you wanted him to, wanted him to feel the same release.

Instead, he pulled out and set you on you feet. You muttered a strangled protest but he just squeezed your hip, spinning you around and walking you gently towards the window: "Hush, love."

He placed your hands on the low window sill; your back arched as you bent down obediently. The move pushed the plush globes of your bum against his thighs and you shivered. 

The storm raged outside still. It was dark enough that you could see a faint reflection of your glittering eyes and flushed cheeks in the glass. Thorin was a blurred, broad-shouldered shadow behind you as his hands smoothed up the sides of your thighs to cup your cheeks and pull them gently apart.

You bit your lip hard as his thumb traced your folds, then dipped shallowly inside you. It came away wet, leaving a smear of slickness at the base of your thigh, and then the broad head of Thorin's cock pushed in, drawing a breathless cry from your throat.

It was a tight fit, getting tighter the deeper he went. You moaned because you liked it, liked that it wasn't comfortable or soft, liked to be stretched to capacity as he looked on.

"All right?" he asked in a deep, gravelly voice once he'd fitted himself in to the hilt. 

"Oh, yes." 

You shimmied a little, urging him wordlessly to move. He complied right away, pulling out nearly all the way only to drive all of that delicious thickness back inside in one commanding push. You gasped. 

Thorin slowed a little, grabbing hold of your hips. He used his hands to tilt your pelvis up a fraction. It was enough to make you see stars as he rocked into you again, shallower and more careful. 

"Deeper," you begged, loving his consideration but wanting to be stuffed full, wanting nothing more than to be taken, fucked into oblivion by your new husband.

You said as much, whispered it shyly between gasping breaths. Thorin's hips stuttered in their steady roll, fingers digging firmly into your flesh. An instant later he plunged in to the hilt and stopped, letting you feel the unforgiving stretch, the overwhelming fullness of your tight channel being crammed to capacity.

You lifted a hand, searching blindly for a better support as you arched back into Thorin. Your palm met the cold window pane. Bereft of purchase, it slid down the breath-fogged surface, leaving a transparent trail.

Thorin's thumbs swept beneath the dimples at the base of your spine in a slow caress, then he began moving again.

Your head fell forward. You rested your forehead against the window for a moment, then thought better of it as Thorin rocked forward. Even so, you were close enough to the glass to feel the chill radiating from it, cooling your heated cheeks. The rest of you was feverishly hot and growing hotter as Thorin drove harder into you. He was holding your hips at the perfect angle: on every pass he was scraping against a spot inside that made you see stars. Your nails scratched the window sill; your legs quivered with the effort of staying upright. You whined, begged and whimpered, hardly knowing what you were saying. Thorin's hand slipped around your front to dip between your legs. 

The first light stroke nearly made you cry, it was so good. When he molded himself to your back and cupped your breast in his other hand, gently pinching the tip, you did sob. He murmured low encouragements in your ear as he wrecked you: with his hand, light and quick against your clit; his fingers, slow and deliberate on your breast; and the hard, relentless strokes of his cock.

It was too much. It was just enough. 

You came apart with a soft shriek, shuddering around him. This time he followed. He gave a hoarse shout and seized, hips stuttering. His arms tightened around you as he came, spilling himself in powerful bursts. 

For a moment you both stilled, breathing hard. Then his head fell to your shoulder, one arm sliding from around you to prop him up on the window sill.

An incredulous giggle escaped you. Your eyes were wet for some reason. "That was... It was..."

"Yes," Thorin agreed hoarsely. "It was."

With a grunt he pushed himself upright, then pulled out carefully. He'd softened, but not much, and a gush of fluid spilled out of you, trickling down your thighs as he moved away.

You stared down helplessly at the glistening, sticky trails as your hand slid down to stem the flow, too late.

Thorin kissed your forehead with a wry laugh. Half a minute later he'd unearthed the waterskin from his belt and found a clean towel in the cupboard. He knelt and set to cleaning you up, stopping now and then to press a soft kiss to any particularly tempting spot. 

You leaned into him, belly level with his broad shoulders. He turned his head to brush his lips against your hipbone. 

You were too wrung out for desire to flare again, but his tenderness spoke to a desperate need deep inside. You buried your fingers in his hair and held him to you as you bit down hard on your lip, trying not to cry.

Thorin put the towel down. He nuzzled your belly, hands coming up to encircle your waist. Neither of you spoke.

Words were crowding on your tongue, all of them entirely inadequate. You swallowed them down, saw the same overfull heart reflected in Thorin's eyes as he got to his feet. 

He picked you up and carried you to the bed, depositing you on the soft furs and tucking you in.

You murmured a soft protest as he turned away, but you needn't have worried. He merely made short work of cleaning himself, then got into bed beside you, dwarfing the narrow mattress entirely.

The small pocket of air beneath the blankets warmed quickly with his body heat. You curled contentedly against his chest, head pillowed on his shoulder. 

The slide into sleep was quick and dreamlike, accompanied by the low rumble of the storm outside.

 

* * *

 

You slept deeply, waking up only twice. The first time it was to Thorin's mouth between your legs, coaxing you through a sleepy orgasm; the second time it was to a slow, wet tug on your breast. Still half asleep, you wrapped your legs around him, sighing when he slid inside. Covered from head to toe by Thorin's muscular weight, you rocked your way to a long, almost gentle wash of pleasure that segued into dreamy, drowsy kisses. 

"Sleep," Thorin said in your ear as your eyes closed. You felt him roll away, felt the swipe of a cool, wet cloth between your legs; then he got back into bed, wrapping himself around your back. 

You breathed a small, happy sigh and slept.

 

*    *    *

 

When you woke again, it was to a cozy, smoky warmth. Thorin had built a fire that crackled merrily in the hearth. He hadn't dressed, though, and you spent a pleasurable minute watching the play of muscles in his backside as he tidied up. 

Despite the fire, the cabin was darker than before. Outside it was still raining, but the sun had all but set. 

"Hello," you said, sitting up. 

Thorin turned to you and smiled. "You do not need to get out of bed, dearling. You look tired still."

"I don't think I can sleep any more right now," you said, trying not to stare at his groin.

"I see."

"What are you doing?"

He smiled again, a little wistful. "Making amends."

God, you loved him. "Amends aren't needed. I'm just glad we're here."

"Sweet love." He walked over to you and sat down on the edge of the bed, smoothed the tangled hair away from your face. "We would have ended up here regardless, eventually. I could not have denied you for long. Not because of your body, lovely though it is. My life is barren without your warmth, you spirit." He kissed your cheek softly. "Your brilliant mind. There is none like you in all of Middle Earth."

And just like that, you were tearing up again. You bit your lip, fighting off the waterworks. "Thorin."

"Erebor is my kingdom and my responsibility, and I will defend it to my last breath. But you, love, you are my home. I will not forget again."

That did it. You burst into tears. 

Thorin pulled you close.

"Fess up," you choked out eventually, then had to stop for a noisy sniff. "You love turning me into a soppy mess."

"I delight in all your moods, my sweet."

"Can't say I return the sentiment."

He nuzzled your nose with a rueful grin. "For good reason, I'd say."

Your stomach growled. Loudly.

Thorin grinned. "I'm glad your appetite is returning."

"I'm not. There's no food here. I might end up gnawing your leg off. Or my own."

"It won't come to that." Thorin rolled out of bed, suddenly all business. You heard him rummage around in the adjoining room, then he returned with an iron pan and a sack of flour. While you stared at him, he went back and brought a pot of honey, something that looked like vinegar, and a small container that he treated like it was solid gold. He'd also found a wide, flat wooden board that he placed on the floor.

You blinked at him.

"I shall make bread," he said. "And I think I saw some pickles in the back."

Ugh. "Breakfast of kings!" you replied with an unconvincing smile.

Thorin sent you a sideways glance. "This king anyway, I'm afraid." he said wryly. You watched approvingly as he walked out stark naked into the rain with a bucket to draw some water from the well. No need to get his drying clothes wet again, he said. You nodded, even though you didn't get why he didn't just hold the bucket out the door — it was raining hard enough after all. You refrained from commenting, though. Thorin was in full male 'get things done' mode and you were quite happy to lounge about on the fur-covered bed as he worked.

With no table in sight, Thorin had to kneel on the floor. He laid out his ingredients with practiced precision, and wasted no time starting on the dough. You experienced a bit of a hot flash as he added the honey, suddenly thinking of all the places you would like to lick it off him. He didn't even notice, completely absorbed in his work.

A particularly pleased noise escaped him as he dispensed a tiny amount of white powder into a dented spoon and added it to the mixture, chasing it with a lacing of apple cider vinegar. 

You propped your chin on your fist. "What's that?"

"Leavening salt," he said. Given his tone, he might as well have said 'rubies'. "It causes the bread to rise." He smiled. "Only the best for my queen."

"I didn't know you had leavening agents other than yeast," you said. 

Thorin shrugged. "The salt is not as common. Which is why I was surprised to find some here."

 He turned back to the dough, kneading in powerful sweeps. You stared at the coiling muscles in his arms, the smooth rhythm of his hands, and felt a surge of warmth. He looked so sexy and domestic you wanted to assault him again, hunger be damned. He knew it too, if his pleased expression was any indication.

"Is this part of your amends?" you asked.

"A modest beginning, but yes, I suppose so."

"It's… nice. It's working."

And it was. You could feel a lot of lingering tension that you hadn't even noticed slowly leave you.

He did not look away from the dough, but his lips curled in a sweet smile. "I'm glad."

Ten minutes later he was done and spent another ten minutes making a slanted box out of a set of metal trays. You had to cover your ears as he hammered the metal into shape, then placed the pan with the shaped dough inside, turning the opening so that it faced the fire.

"What's that?" you yelled, still a little deaf from all the hammering.

"An oven," Thorin replied in an entirely normal tone.

An oven. Thank Mahal for dwarven ingenuity. That bread might even turn out to be edible.

At the thought of food your stomach growled again. 

God, it felt like your stomach walls were stuck together. "Don't burn the bread," you warned Thorin.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied mildly.

He didn't burn the bread.

When he took it out of the oven it had a slightly rough, golden crust, and he had to bodily restrain you from attacking it right away.

You barely survived the wait until it had cooled down enough to eat without burning your tongue. Thorin fed you a piece, watching you attentively as you chewed.

The moan that escaped you was nearly orgasmic. Crunchy and slightly sweet, it struck just the right balance between fluffy and dense. It was delicious. 

"So good!" you whined, uncaring that your mouth was still full. 

Thorin leaned back, satisfied. You swallowed, then stared at him until he fed you another piece, and another.

"Aren't you hungry?" you asked as it belatedly occurred to you that he hadn't eaten anything today either.

"Not very," he said. "Eat your fill first."

Ah. He was being noble again. You leaned forward to press a kiss to his bearded jaw, then fed him a large chunk despite his protests. 

Slowly you ate all the bread, and some of the pickles -- a few of those went a long way -- then Thorin made more dough because you were still hungry.

He didn't get a chance to knead it properly. He was too beautiful by half with that small frown of concentration crinkling his brow, so you pounced on him from behind, covering his shoulders and neck with nibbling kisses.

You ended up with dough-smeared hips, making love on the floor. Afterward your chest was covered in flour, both your hair was hopelessly sticky, and you couldn't stop giggling like loons.

Thorin ended up having to drag in the huge tub from the storeroom. Bread-making was tabled in favor of heating water for a bath. Half an hour later you had washed each other's hair and were sharing the tub. Thorin shoved a strong thigh between yours and teased your soap-slick breasts until you came. He splashed so hard when you returned the favor that there was barely any water left in the tub afterward. 

You cleaned up together, then made that second loaf of bread after all. You sat down on the floor in the cradle of Thorin's legs, kneading the dough together as he placed slow bites down the side of your neck. Shaping the round soft mass while Thorin's large hands covered yours was one of the most sensual experiences of your life. 

Once the loaf was placed in Thorin's makeshift oven to bake, he guided you gently to a small wash basin in the corner where he proceeded to wash the dough off both your hands. He was patient as massaged the rich soap into your hands, working up a lather. After rinsing it off, he patted your skin dry with a fresh piece of cloth — you were quickly running out of towels — and pressed a lingering kiss to the center of each palm. 

Your lips quivered. "Oh, Thorin…"

He bent his forehead to yours, cupped your face between his palms. "What do you need, dearling?"

You looked up at his eyes, flame-blue in the shadows, and felt your heart fill up. "You." 

"Again?"

"Again."

"I'm glad," he whispered against your cheek. Taking your hand, he led you to the bed.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.**

— Rabindranath Tagore

 

A shrill bird call woke you for the deepest, most restful sleep you'd had in ages. You nuzzled against something sleek and warm. Silky hair tickled your nose.

"Good morning," said a rough voice somewhere above you.

Thorin. You fought to open your eyes, expecting to see his amused face. Instead, you saw little more than sleek skin and a patch of dark hair. Drawing back a little, you realized that you'd somehow managed to shove your head right under Thorin's armpit in your sleep.

You didn't mind at all; he smelled lovely. Clean from last night's bath, but also musky and very male.

"Comfortable?" Thorin asked, laughter in his voice.

"Very."

But you didn't protest when he slipped an arm under your back, repositioning you so that your cheek was pillowed on his chest.

You sighed happily and wiggled closer. Your lower body was flush with the side of his hip, one leg carelessly straddling both of his.

It did not take long for you to notice something hard nudging your thigh and you turned to look down, where not-so-little Thorin was doing its own version of a good-morning salute.

"Why, hel-lo there," you sang. "I'm happy to see you too! Who's the best widdle stif—"

A large hand covered your mouth as Thorin huffed a scandalized chuckle into your hair.

"Please," he said in that deep, panty-melting morning voice, "No baby talk, I beg you."

You licked his palm. Mmmm.

Thorin took his hand away. You looked up to see his gaze waver between wary and amused.

"Okay." You dimpled up at him. "Your loss."

He hid an answering smile against your cheek. "I will strive to bear it with dignity."

He looked so smugly content that you couldn't help teasing him a little. "I should hope so. Any other stifling strictures you want to impose on me, or was that it?"

Wrapping his arms around you, he rolled you easily onto your back, effectively trapping you beneath him. "None come to mind. Though I can certainly give it some thought if you wish."

You slid your arms around his neck, then pulled his head down until your noses brushed. "No, thank you. I could end up forbidden to put on any clothes when I'm home, or forced to fetch your slippers every night, or…" You trailed off, distracted by the feel of his lips brushing yours, then moving on to trace the line of your jaw.

"My love, you assume I would deprive myself of the pleasure of undressing you. There is no danger of that, I assure you." He bit gently at the join of your neck and shoulder. You shivered. Then, "… Slippers?"

"Isn't that what married guys do?" you teased him breathlessly. "Wear slippers, read the paper and ignore their wives?"

Thorin shook his head. "You come from a very strange world, my love. In any case, I am newly wedded. Slipper sickness has not yet claimed me."

He lifted your arms above your head, lacing his fingers through yours.

"When it comes for me in the dark hours of the night," he whispered against your mouth, "when I begin craving Balin's gem-studded, fur-lined monstrosities… Will you help me fight it off?"

"With everything in my power," you vowed earnestly, and then there was no more talking for a long time.

 

*   *   *

 

Morning afterglow was the best. Sadly, even the loveliest interlude had to end sometime. You just wished it didn't have to end for such a prosaic reason as your insistently rumbling stomach. Since the second loaf of bread from yesterday had ended up a barely recognizable, charred brick as Thorin applied himself to helping you break the world record for most orgasms in a row, there was nothing to eat except pickles.

You would have braved the pickles if it bought you more time with him, but Thorin would hear none of it.

"I don't want to go back," you groused. "Why do we need to eat all the time? It's horribly inefficient."

Thorin grinned into his beard but did not correct your use of "we". He'd gone as long as a week without food during the quest, and you knew he was capable of holding out a lot longer if he needed to, dwarven resilience being what it was.

"I enjoy this time with you more that I can say," he said, "but I will not have you endure stomach-curdling rations merely for the sake of my company." He tapped a finger to your lips when you opened your mouth to protest. "Besides, we must announce our changed circumstances to the others. If you wish, we can return here tonight with provisions. I doubt anyone will mind."

"They shouldn't if they want to get any sleep," you muttered. "Though I was so looking forward to having marital relations right next to Kíli's bed. All night long. I feel that he deserves some special consideration after all the effort he went to."

"We can certainly keep that in mind for another time, if that is your wish," Thorin replied in perfect deadpan. "After all, he has often expressed his curiosity regarding our intimacies."

You smiled, picturing Kíli's horrified face the morning after, then gave up with a sigh. You weren't the type to enjoy or want an audience, no matter how satisfying it would have been to teach Kíli a lesson.

"I think I'll pass," you said, linking your arms around Thorin's neck and pressing a kiss to his lips. "As much as I'd enjoy some revenge, I think I'd rather keep you all to myself."

"I do not mind," Thorin said, returning the kiss with a soft peck to the corner of your mouth. "Revenge comes in many forms and subtlety is often better."

You smiled up at him, delighted. "Oooooh. Were you thinking of something specific? That smirk looks awfully specific." You batted your eyelashes. "Teach me, master?"

"Gladly," he said. "For now, however, we must get going if we wish to be there in time for breakfast."

He was right. You parted reluctantly to gather your scattered clothing from its drying spots, wincing at the cardboard-like stiffness of the fabric. Once you had both dressed, Thorin took the hairpiece from his pocket and sat you down between his legs to to braid your hair. His practiced moves were so pleasant that it took you a while to realize that he was braiding it the _exact same way_ Kíli had, even teasing a few strands out of the tight braiding pattern so that the hairstyle didn't look too fresh.

You turned to him. "Oh, you're evil."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Am I?"

"You are and you know it." You found yourself grinning. "I like it. I didn't know you were this naughty."

"And here I thought I'd amply displayed my capacity for naughtiness last night. And other nights."

You smacked his shoulder. "I didn't mean _that_. But anyway, I don't think the braid's going to fool anyone for long."

"It is not meant to. With luck, it will be just long enough for us to enjoy a quiet breakfast."

"Ah. I'll try not to blush too much then. And you should look a little less relaxed."

Thorin's faint smile melted seamlessly into the slightly dead-eyed expression he wore during council sessions. "Better?"

You leaned into him. "Much. So... How do you want to deal with the big announcement?"

"I am confident that the Company's collective nosiness will make any announcement superfluous. If that should not be the case, I will be happy to give a speech."

You grinned. Thorin was quite fond of his speeches. "Maybe not this time, though?" you pleaded. "A few words should be enough. These are our friends, not the Assembly."

"As you wish."

You refrained from telling him that he had just uttered the most romantic three words in movie history even as a tendril of warmth curled in your chest and stayed there.

 

*   *   *

 

When you walked into camp the sun was just peeking over the horizon, but the yard was already bustling with activity.

The large table had been carried out onto the grass, along with two long benches. Dori was busy arranging the dishes and cutlery just so. He had even unearthed _napkins_ from somewhere — probably his own pack. A stray ray of light glinted off silk thread. Not only napkins, but embroidered napkins. Clearly from Dori's own stash, then, as you couldn't see anything like that being part of regular outpost issue. A harried Bombur directed the proceedings.

You called out a greeting and got absent waves in return.

Whatever welcome you had expected after going missing for a full day, this wasn't it. People said perfectly polite good mornings when you and Thorin passed them by, then went about their business as if you hadn't been away at all. A few glanced at your hair and away again in disappointment as they encountered the now-familiar braid. It was… uncommonly restrained.

Dwalin was the only one who actually came over to greet the both of you properly. He enveloped you in a bear hug that lifted you off your feet. Patting your back once he'd set you back down, he raised an eyebrow at Thorin over your head. "Got lost?"

Thorin grinned. It was completely different from his usual grins — it was boyish and mischievous and just a little proud. You couldn't help a misty smile at the sight.

Dwalin nodded and let you go. "I expect you're hungry then," he said, smirking a little as your cheeks flamed. "Hurry and grab a seat. Bombur has outdone himself, and I fear he'll burst if breakfast doesn't start soon."

"Sounds good," you croaked, leaning into Thorin as he slipped an arm around your waist. He led you to the table, ignoring the shit-eating grins his nephews sent your way.

"Aw, no fresh boar today?" called Kíli as you walked past him. "I feel deprived."

You squeezed Thorin's waist, whether in warning or as a plea not to maim the idiot Durin, you weren't quite sure.

"That cheek will be the death of you one day, m'lad," said Balin, shaking his head. "Mark my words."

Kíli grinned. "But what a way to go. Strangled by my own uncle. They'll write sad songs about it, and young, pretty ladies will cry into their handkerchiefs while lamenting my senseless death."

"That's better than falling down a mine shaft and breaking your fool neck like that fellow last week, you have to agree." said Bofur, straddling the bench.

That was quite enough of that. You took Thorin's hand and pulled him forward, away from Kíli.

"Please. Thorin isn't going to strangle you," you said over your shoulder, strutting towards the table as if you owned it. Which, technically, you did, since you were now officially queen of Erebor. "He deals with the likes of Yngví every day without killing anybody. If he ever wants to get rid of you, he'll make it look like an accident."

Everyone turned to look at you.

"I can't tell if she's joking or not," said Nori, respectfully.

"My dear?" Thorin murmured, casually lifting you into his arms and climbing over the bench. "While I thank you for your defense of my kin-murdering skills, I'd rather you didn't."

You cuddled closer as he sat you into his lap. "I just want to help."

"And I am glad of that," he said, kissing the top of your head. "Still."

Now that the king was seated, the rest of the Company wasted no time gathering around the table. Bofur went around the table with a tray, dispensing hot tea into metal cups.

Thorin nuzzled your hair as you cast a greedy eye over the offerings.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Dwalin muttered but there was a small grin peeking from beneath his mustache. You blew him a kiss.

Kíli laid a hand on his arm. "Aww, is young love too much for you in your dotage, Dwalin? Or is it envy raising its ugly head in your breast?" He touched his chest dramatically.

Fíli shook his head. "You are playing with fire, brother."

"Nah, Thorin won't let Dwalin kill me. He still needs a spare in case you bite it early. No offense."

"Not quite," said Fíli. "He needs a spare who's fit to _rule_. I'm pretty sure that excludes you."

Kíli grimaced and glanced at Dwalin, who wore an evil grin. Dwalin held up two beefy hands, framing an invisible sign. "Mauled. By. Boar," he mouthed.

Kíli paled.

You giggled, turning your head to look up at Thorin. You barely got a glimpse of hot blue eyes before he kissed you. It was a deep, take-no-prisoners kiss, much too carnal for the setting. You returned it anyway, tuning out the ensuing catcalls.

"What was that for?" you murmured dizzily when he lifted his head. "Are you celebrating Kíli's impending demise?"

"More like the resurgence of his own good sense," grunted Dwalin.

Thorin raised his dented cup in a mocking toast and turned back to you.

"I missed you," he murmured, for your ears only.

"Missed you too," you whispered back, and kissed him.

When you came back to reality a long while later, you found everyone grinning at you. Bofur, now seated across the table from you, was wiping away an imaginary tear.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Hush, you."

Uncowed, he touched two fingers to his hat in a jaunty salute.

You shrugged and turned to Thorin. Now that you were properly rested and feeling a lot less like the Cathy to his Heathcliff, you really needed to eat. The lavish breakfast spread beckoned, its siren song drowning out the suggestive commentary that had broken out around you following that kiss. Sadly, none of the interesting bits were within your reach.

"Eggs," you moaned covetously, stretching out a Lazarus-like hand towards a distant bowl. "And... Oh! Are those sausages over there?"

You nudged Thorin, pointing discreetly least anyone else discover your treasures. You'd noticed that now that he'd gotten the usual friendly insults out of the way, Kíli was eyeing the food with an unsettling covetousness.

"Yes," Thorin agreed. "Freshly made, if I'm not mistaken."

Your answering moan sounded distinctly sexual. "Please defend them until I can have one?" you begged. "If you see Kíli trying to grab one, hold him off, okay? By any means necessary," you added darkly.

Thorin bit back a smile, though his eyes had darkened a little in response to the sounds you were making. "My sword is yours to command. However, I'm afraid it is also still in my room. If you require any maiming, Dwalin may have to sit on him until I can fetch it."

You pondered that, narrowing your eyes at the youngest prince. "No, that's fine. If Kíli gets to them before I do, your sword will be the least of his problems."

 

*   *   *

 

Two eggs and three sausages later, you were feeling a lot more relaxed. You wiped your hands and turned to Thorin, lowering your voice. "Are you going to tell Kíli about Tauriel anytime soon?"

"No. He'll find out on his own soon enough."

"But—" You swallowed back the rest. You'd just reconciled; you had no wish to jeopardize that.

Thorin touched your chin, silently asking you to meet his gaze. "I did not mean to make you swallow your words, amrâlimê," he said quietly. "I promise I will not repeat my mistake, no matter what you have to say."

You smiled wistfully up at him. "Maybe I don't want to put that to the test just now."

Thorin's expression darkened. "I never meant to dim your light like this."

"You haven't. This has taught me to think a little more before I speak, that's all. It's a good lesson."

Thorin's eyes narrowed in determination. "Then you shall not be the only one who has learned a lesson." He dropped a kiss on your hair, then turned to his nephew. "Kíli!" he bellowed.

Kíli jumped, hastily swallowing his mouthful of sausage. "Uncle?" he ventured cautiously.

"Next week I shall formally welcome your Elven lady at Erebor as Thranduil's ambassador."

You could have heard a pin drop in the ensuing silence.

Kíli's eyes went wide with incredulous hope. "Tauriel?"

"I believe that is her name," Thorin said dryly.

"But how— I would never have presumed to ask— I know that you—" Kíli broke off, rubbed a hand over his face. His eyes were wet.

Fíli slung an arm around his brother's shoulder in a rare hug. Dwalin sighed, whether out of compassion or boredom you couldn't tell.

You felt tears prick at your own eyes. Sniffling, you turned away from the sight of naked gratitude on Kíli's face.

"I know," Thorin said. "Fortunately for you my wife is a brave soul, and kinder than you deserve. She took it upon herself to speak on your behalf."

" _Wife!_ " Ori squeaked, eyes as wide as saucers.

You saw the moment the penny dropped for each member of the Company in turn. Balin and Dwalin wore equally satisfied looks; Bofur looked pained, Fíli pensive. Kíli was the last to realize the implications of Thorin's statement, too caught up in his own feelings to process things as quickly as the others.

Once he did, however, the revelation seemed to leave him reeling. A deep flush stained his cheeks. "Your _wife_? Wait... was that why you argued?"

A cold look from Thorin ended that line of inquiry rather abruptly.

Kíli's eyes turned pained as he realized just what had brought on the rift between you and Thorin. "Oh, Y/N."

"Maybe this will teach you not to interfere in things you do not understand," Thorin said coldly.

Kili jerked as if he'd received a body blow, while everyone who hadn't yet realized what was going on turned to look at your hairpiece. You saw Dori's eyes widen, then turn towards Kíli in incredulous outrage. Bifur wagged his finger at the princes, apparently unsure which of them was actually at fault. Voices rose as the Company started talking in excited tones, piecing the whole story together. With your luck, someone was going to make a song out of it by nightfall.

Kíli shrank in on himself. "Mahal, I'm _so_ sorry…"

"It's fine, Kíli," you said. "Really."

"Kíli," Thorin said. It was his assembly voice, and it sliced through the excited chatter around the table like a knife. "You will be Erebor's envoy to Mirkwood for the next month and a half after our return. My talks with Thranduil have resulted in several agreements that need to be formalized. You may pick whatever staff you like. I would suggest Ori, to start with."

Ori preened. Kíli paled.

"What?" He blinked, reeling as if from a fresh blow.

"You heard me. As a member of the royal family, I expect you to perform to Balin's exacting standards. Consult with him before you leave."

"But Tauriel—"

"Will be quite busy with her own introduction to her new duties at Erebor. I would not want her to be distracted."

"And after that?" Kíli choked out.

"You will return to the mountain and work closely with our new Elven liaison to further cement the new agreements."

Kíli took a deep breath. "So… six weeks until I can see her?"

"No. At least seven," said Thorin. "We do have to conclude this delightful outing first, after all."

God, that was brilliant. Cruel, but not too cruel. And yet, as much as Kíli deserved to be taught a lesson, you couldn't help but feel bad for him.

You told yourself to knock it off. Kíli's well-intentioned meddling could have gone horribly wrong. That it hadn't was a testament to the depth of Thorin's feelings for you rather than Kíli's achievement in any way. There had to be at least some consequences, or he'd never learn.

You leaned into Thorin's shoulder and tried to look composed rather than pitying. He squeezed you close.

"This is revenge, isn't it?" Kíli muttered miserably.

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you are talking about," Thorin said. "Revenge for what, exactly?"

Bofur hastily muffled an evil snigger.

Kíli slumped. "Never mind."

"Good answer," Thorin said, and turned to Bombur when your stomach gave a little growl. "More bread please, Bombur. And another of those sausages, if you please. It seems my lady is still hungry."

 

*   *   *

 

After breakfast, the others positively swarmed you and Thorin.

You grew increasingly misty-eyed as the well-wishes poured in — some more eloquent, some less, but all of them heartfelt. A wonderful carving of you and Thorin was a surprise present from Bofur, and you spent a full minute staring at it before you could find the words to convey your appreciation. Thankfully, Thorin was quick to find the right words of thanks while you gaped at the small work of art with your mouth open. He was both warm and eloquent and you squeezed his arm in thanks as you joined in with your own stammer of gratitude.

Fíli was last in the line of well wishers, and he waited for the others to move well away before he finally approached you. His hug lifted you off your feet. It went on and on, and when he finally set you back down, he was misty-eyed. That was all it took for you to tear up as well.

"I've always wanted a little sister," he said. "I couldn't be happier it's you."

You wiped ineffectually at your eyes. "You do know that I'm technically your aunt, right?"

Fíli gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "Perhaps in name. You are younger than I am, and you do not treat me like an aunt. Thank Mahal."

You blinked. "Do you have any other aunts I should know about?"

"No, but I do have more than enough older female relatives who enjoy pinching my cheeks and telling me how nice my beard is coming in to know the difference."

You shuddered. "I see. I promise to refrain from doing any of those things."

"Which is only one of the reasons I love you. Love you like a _sister_ ," he added with a sidelong glance at Thorin, who was watching the both of you with an indulgent expression.

Thorin manfully refrained from rolling his eyes. "Peace, Fíli. I trust my wife. And you as well."

Fíli relaxed a bit, prompting him to blurt out, "I am very glad you have reconciled."

With the requisite congratulations out of the way, general consensus was that a proper celebration was needed. Bifur and Dori raided the outpost's cellar for the best spirits, which they distributed with a keen eye to each person's taste. Even though you knew you were married, the prospect of an actual celebration made it feel a lot more real than before.

You were, for all intents and purposes, a queen.

As far as the dwarves were concerned, you were _the_ queen. You ruled a mountain now — and you would rule, as indirectly that may be, over all the dwarves in Middle Earth.

You shivered, suddenly cold.

To calm the butterflies in your stomach, you assisted with the preparations until Thorin pulled you into his lap and kissed you soundly.

"I'm not done—" you protested.

He gathered you closer. "You're making me quite dizzy." And then, after another slow, sweet kiss: "What is it? You seem harried."

"I think I've just realized that I'm a proper queen now," you muttered.

"Yes?" Thorin prodded when nothing else was forthcoming.

You hid your face against his shoulder. "I'll have to wear heavy dresses all the time. I can't miss council meetings anymore." You gave an theatrical shudder. "Ugh. I'm not at all sure even your stellar lovemaking is worth the hassle."

Thorin laughed and hugged you close. "You can wear whatever you like," he replied easily. "But I see that I'll have to increase my efforts in the bedroom."

You kissed the side of his neck. "I wasn't complaining. Well, I was, but not about you. Or your, uh, efforts."

"I know. However, as making the Council more agreeable does not lie within my powers — more's the pity — I can only offer to make enduring them worth your while."

"You are very welcome to try," you said, hugging him back.

"Stop smiling like that. It's disturbing," Dwalin told Thorin in passing.

You hid your own smile against Thorin's neck, all misgivings forgotten.

From there on, you both got swept up in the joy of celebrating with your closest friends, reminiscing and laughing.

Predictably, it didn't take long for the music instruments to emerge from overstuffed packs, and then it was time to dance. Bofur played cheery tunes on his flute, Dwalin took out his lute, and the others added their own, slightly warlike beat to the cheerful strains. You danced with everyone except Kíli, who was sitting a little apart, cracking nuts into a large bowl.

You brought him a drink and met his apologetic look with a smile. He was a lot more cheerful after that, and the last bit of weight fell of your shoulders.

Thorin didn't partake much, and you saw Balin was being rather slow in emptying his first cup as well. Everyone else was becoming increasingly cheerful. Bombur didn't show much of a reaction to the alcohol; given his weight, he'd have to drink a full barrel to be even a little affected.

"It's nearly time!" Bofur announced over the din.

"Time for what?" you asked, confused.

And then the chanting started. Thorin got to his feet with a sigh and went to join the others. Only Balin remained seated on your left.

You turned to him. "What's going on?"

"Ah," Balin said — with a certain glee, you noted. "An ancient and well-loved tradition. A game of blind man's bluff."

"That's a children's game."

"Well, we use it mostly during weddings," Balin said, "as Dwarven dwellings do not lend themselves to being explored while blindfolded."

He had a point there. Erebor was mostly stairs, and walkways without railings. "Use it how?" you asked.

"The bride's eyes are bound and she must then find her husband among a crowd of male wedding guests," said Balin.

While you couldn't imagine mistaking anyone else for Thorin, even blindfolded, you hadn't actually tried. This was exactly the kind of thing you liked to practice beforehand. You tried to think of an excuse.

"I'm afraid you cannot decline," Balin said kindly. "It is traditional."

You slumped.

Balin patted your hand. "It's a silly tradition, nothing more," he said.

You took a deep breath and got to your feet, determined to be the best blindfolded husband-seeker in Dwarven history.

Bofur bound your eyes with a folded piece of cloth that had been thoroughly tested on Ori until he ran into a tree.

"No peeking," he said, and spun you gently around — once, twice, three times. Then his hands left your shoulders. You wobbled a little, suddenly unsure of your balance.

The place was silent. You started forward slowly, arms tentatively outstretched. It didn't take long to touch the first person. Your hands found a beard, soft, and shoulders that weren't nearly as wide as they should. A high-pitched giggle escaped as you tickled the beard.

Ori.

You moved on, making sure to keep your hands at chest level. In quick succession, you breezed past Nori, Oin and Glóin. Kíli gave you a moment's pause, but no more than that, and Dwalin's clothing was too distinctive to fool you for long.

Fíli's mustache braids were a dead giveaway, but otherwise he was the closest to Thorin as long as your eyes were closed.

And then you came to the next person, and froze. It was Thorin, you were sure of it. Even if his scent hadn't been branded into your memory, you would have recognized the embossed pattern on his leather-trimmed vest anywhere.

You pushed yourself up on tiptoe. Your mouth met his with more force than you'd intended. Thorin took it as an invitation, angling his jaw and plunging deep in a no-holds-barred onslaught that seared all your senses.

Your surroundings remained oddly quiet as you ravaged each other with hungry mouths and oddly chaste hands.

Eventually the kiss turned softer but stayed deep, tongues tangling lazily. You parted in stages, softening each kiss until you placed the softest of butterfly kisses on the corner of his mouth in closing, and drew back with an effort.

Warm fingers brushed your cheeks. Thorin lifted away the blindfold. You opened your eyes slowly, blinking against the bright light.

Dwalin clapped his hands, startling you. "Show's over, lads," he barked.

You looked around you into oddly shy faces. Only Bombur, Balin and Gloín seemed largely unaffected. Gloín even smiled approvingly at you and gave you a thumbs up, a gesture you deeply regretted teaching him. You replied with a pained smile.

Balin gave a formal little speech in Khuzdul praising your ability to find your husband by the glow of his royal aura or something. You would have liked to pay more attention but couldn't, because Thorin slipped an arm around your waist and bent down to whisper a single word in your ear: "Tonight."

It sounded both like a promise and a threat. A delicious shiver ran down your spine as you thought of the secluded little hut, and the huge basket of delicious food Bombur had already packed for the two of you.

 

*   *   *

 

"Not too long now, love," Thorin murmured into your ear as you broke into a jaw-splitting yawn for the umpteenth time. It was two days after your wedding celebration. You were on the way back to Erebor along with the Company, and you were nearly too tired to stand, let alone walk. You had barely gotten any sleep as you and Thorin tried to compress a whole honeymoon into two measly days.

Thorin hadn't slept either, but as always, he looked perfect while you had difficulty keeping your eyes open, and it was at least another hour until you'd have to make camp.

Still, it was a benign exhaustion and you weren't going to complain. You squeezed Thorin's hand and fought your eyes open all the way.

"As nice as this was, I'll be happy to be back home," you said.

"Oh, aye," piped up Dori amongst grunts of agreement from the others. "The ground's hell on my back. Whenever I think of my lovely silk-covered mattress at home I want to weep."

"That's why I don't have a bed," said Dwalin with a superior sniff. "All it does is make you soft."

"You don't have a bed?" you asked.

Bombur sighed, and Gloín rolled his eyes.

"Wait until you get yourself a wife," said the latter. "She'll set you right soon enough."

"I'm too old and set in my ways for a wife," Dwalin muttered.

Balin glanced at Thorin. "No one is too old for a trusty companion, brother."

Dwalin patted his axes. "I have my trusty companions right here," he barked. "Load of nonsense," he muttered under his breath.

You leaned towards Thorin. "Methinks he doth protest a little too much," you whispered. "Did I miss something?"

"If you wish for fresh gossip, you should not be asking me," he said. "I was away too long." He squeezed your hand to stave off the sting of bad memories. You sent him a grateful glance.

You resolved to ask Balin later, then reconsidered. You would ask Dori instead. He was nearly as well-informed as Balin, and he wouldn't feel as if he was gossiping about family.

You walked on with a new spring in your step.

The sun blazed in a clear blue sky, the plains stretched so far into the distance that you could see the shadowy edge of Mirkwood on the horizon, and the grass beneath your feet was still fresh and green, even though it would soon begin to wilt with the first frosts of autumn on the mountain.

Thorin lengthened his stride effortlessly to match your new speed.

"In a hurry?" he asked after a while.

"No. I guess I was just thinking and got excited."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Home. I can't wait to get to know Tauriel a little better. And Dwalin's mysterious lady, if there is one."

"There may well be," Thorin said pensively. "He did react quite oddly."

"Oh!" You did a little dance without breaking stride. "Love is in the air…"

Thorin brought your hand to his lips and kissed it.

"Yes," he agreed softly. "It is."


End file.
